


distance between two points

by andawaywego



Category: Glee
Genre: Explicit Language, F/F, Just really angsty, Severe Angst Ahoy, Sexual Content, Some Finchel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-11
Updated: 2015-08-27
Packaged: 2018-04-08 17:35:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 90,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4314198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andawaywego/pseuds/andawaywego
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'And that’s how she came to be sitting on the couch with a very inebriated Rachel who, at some point, had changed the topic from the play to trying to get Quinn to sleep with her.' Faberry. AU-Season Three.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> okay, so i have a new chapter of this--to be added tomorrow--and most of this has been SEVERELY reworked.
> 
> when i say that, that doesn't mean like too bad, just like tweaking and stuff.
> 
> honestly, if you've read this already and you don't want anything to change, you could probably just ignore all the tweaking and tune in for the new chapter tomorrow.
> 
> i'm posting the changed version here first and then i'll go update the one on FF.net.
> 
> for anyone who hasn't read this, it's set in season three so there is Finchel for a while.
> 
> unfortunately.
> 
> but you'll find that it dies eventually.
> 
> just, this is really angsty which might not be everyone's cup of tea--and with the new changes it's actually MORE angsty--so if you don't like that, maybe this isn't your thing.
> 
> and yeah, i know, changing things in a story that's been on the internet for almost two years is probably cheating, but i don't care because i've improved--i think, at least--as a writer and i wasn't super happy with it.
> 
> especially since i now have a fun thing called a "Plan".
> 
> anyway.
> 
> i'll post all the chapters up until the new one now.
> 
> read on if you dare.

… _._

_distance between two points_

… _._

" _Longing, we say, because desire is full of endless distances."_

_-Robert Hass_

… _._

…

_February 25th, 2012_

_.._

It smells like snow and she is probably dying.

That’s the only rational, complete thought her mind can conjure as she lies in the mangled metal of her car, bleeding onto the pavement below.

A breeze stirs the air around her, hovering to push the bloody, blonde tresses of her hair back and forth. It cools her body in places that suddenly feel wet, even though she’s not exactly positive where those places are.

It smells like snow and, with her head cushioned against the asphalt by shards of glass, she thinks she can see a patch of it by the road.

Distantly, she realizes that someone is talking to her. The man from the other car, maybe, but she can’t really tell. He’s close, somewhere above her, crying from the sound of it and saying over and over, “You’re going to be okay, sweetie.”

If she were able to form the words, she might tell him that he has no way of knowing if this is true or not. But she can’t, so she doesn’t.

She wonders if, miles away, they’re actually going through with the wedding.

It’s so hard for her to breathe.

There’s a lot of noise then, and she’s being moved by a swarm, a horde, of people she can’t quite focus her eyes on. She’s put in the back of a large, blurry vehicle and being taken away.

Her clothes are stripped off, something placed on her face and, suddenly, it’s a little easier to breathe.

She can’t feel her legs.

A woman is wiping her face with a white cloth that comes away red and saying, “Did you find a wallet?”

It’s quiet. Someone is murmuring something.

She breathes in ragged breaths through her mouth and the sound rattles around in her head.

“You’re going to be just fine, Lucy.”

They must have found her wallet.

“You’re going to be okay,” someone else says and then everything gets really dark.

.

The home phone rings thirty minutes after her daughter leaves for the wedding.

Judy is sitting in Quinn’s bedroom, on her bed, with her head in her hands, trying to stop crying.

Her head is pounding and she feels so empty. It’s not a new feeling, not one that hasn’t been previously associated with Quinn, but this time the emptiness is _for_ her daughter rather than _because_ of her.

The phone, when it rings, makes Judy jump and sniffle loudly.

She stands slowly, trying to compose herself as much as she can before answering.

“Hello?” she says, when she reaches the extension in her own bedroom. Her voice sounds surprisingly calm and she’s glad for it.

“Judy Fabray?” she hears a woman ask.

“This is her.”

There’s a beat of silence, and then, “Mrs. Fabray, this is Caroline Schneider. I’m a nurse at Lima Memorial hospital.” Something with the same weight and consistency of a rock drops into Judy’s stomach. “Your daughter, Lucy, was brought in just a few minutes ago with some severe injuries sustained from a car accident.”

The air has left the room.

“Is she…is Lucy…?” Judy swallows around the dryness in her throat and she absolutely can’t breathe.

“She’s still with us, ma’am.”

For the first time in her life, Judy can feel the world as it hurls itself around and around at over 1,000 miles an hour.

“Is there any way you can come down here?”

She nods, dumbly, for a moment and then remembers how to speak. “Yes, I c-can…I, um…”

“Ma’am, are you going to be okay to drive? Would you like for me to call for a police escort?”

“No, I’m…” She feels the dampness in her eyes at it begins to spill over. “I’ll be there shortly.”

“Alright. Your husband told me to tell you he would be waiting for you.”

If her daughter wasn’t being rushed around the hospital across town in a state of emergency, Judy might argue this—tell the nurse to tell Russell, her _ex_ -husband, where he can put his concern.

But Quinn is, so Judy doesn’t.

“Thank you,” is the only thing she can think to say before hanging up.

Even as the sound of her car engine muffles the sound of her sobs, she has no idea who she was thanking or why.

.

…

_November 9th, 2011_

..

“You should be my first,” Rachel slurs into Quinn’s ear indifferently, like she’s been planning on saying it all along.

Quinn sighs and resists the urge to look at her. It gets annoying, Rachel’s being heedless about everything, even the status of her virginity.

“Finn would just mess it up.”

“How so?” Quinn asks, pressing her thumb into the aluminum of her Pepsi can until it bends beneath the digit.

“He’s just…he’s so… _Finn_ …He lacks passion.”

Quinn smiles at this, even though it’s not a particularly nice thing for Rachel to say.

She has a point, actually. Finn can sing, he can listen—or at least pretend to—and he can act, but he is not passionate in the slightest.

And, okay, Quinn can kind of see where Rachel is coming from—if she’s trying to gain “sexual awakening” or whatever uncomfortable phrase she’d used during her emergency meeting the other day—then Finn is probably going to be the last person equipped to help her with said awakening.

What Quinn doesn’t understand, though, is why Rachel is coming to _her,_ of all people, to help her with this problem.

“You don’t.”

Quinn glances sideways at Rachel and quickly averts her eyes. “I don’t what?”

“Lack passion.”

She’s not sure what else there is to say other than, “Thanks.”

“S’true.”

“Okay.”

“Is that a yes?”

“A yes to what?”

She knows what Rachel is asking. It isn’t as if they’ve changed topics. But she’s hoping to throw the other girl off her scent. Maybe if Rachel thinks she’s not completely absorbed in the conversation, she’ll give up.

A sigh—loud and long—is released from between Rachel’s parted lips and she looks absolutely exhausted from the mere task of speaking to Quinn. “To sleeping with me.”

“Oh.”

“Snip, snap, lil’ missy. I shan’t wait all night.”

If it sounds like she’s drunk, it’s because she is. But, in fairness, this _is_ a Noah Puckerman party and one of the only reason why people ven come to these things is because of the abundance of alcohol he somehow manages to obtain.

His parties are sporadic and loud, often falling on a lazy Saturday night, or even the occasional weeknight.

Take tonight, for example, it’s ten o’clock on a Wednesday and there’s school tomorrow.

Yet, his house, as always, is practically being shaken off of its foundation by the music pumping through the walls, floors, and bodies in the living room, kitchen, and dining room.

Leave it to him to come up with the idea for a Pre-Final Dress Rehearsal party that absolutely everyone who’s _anyone_ attends, despite it being a school night.

To be honest, Quinn’s not entirely sure why she’s there. It isn’t as if she’s ever been to a party like this one that she’s ended up enjoying. It isn’t as if she’d believed him when he’d said it would just be a “small get-together”. But, still. She’d come anyway.

Rachel had been in the kitchen with the host when she’d arrived, already swaying unsteadily on her feet and looking like she was about two seconds away from vomiting.

Noah’s arm had been around her waist to keep her from tipping herself onto the floor and he was whispering something into her ear that was making her giggle.

It was odd, seeing them that way, and—despite not really liking the boy—Quinn had to wonder where Finn was.

“Where’s Finn?” she’d asked them, after denying the handful of drinks Puck had tried to hand her.

Rachel had shrugged. “Who cares?” she’d asked, making Puck throw his head back and laugh.

Quinn didn’t say, “You should,” and, instead, bit her tongue and offered to take Rachel off Puck’s hands.

He’d agreed, passing her over to Quinn and leaving the room with the excuse that he needed to be a good host—which Quinn still thinks must have been code for “find a drunken cheerleader to seduce.”

And that’s how she came to be sitting on the couch with a very inebriated Rachel who, at some point, had changed the topic from the play to trying to get Quinn to sleep with her. Quinn’s not really sure where this is coming from, so she feigns nonchalance—chalks it up to Rachel being drunk and tries not to read too much into the situation.

If she’s being completely honest with herself, she’s wanted to hear Rachel say words like these for months— _years,_ actually—but she doesn’t particularly like being honest with herself.

Reaching out, she takes Rachel’s plastic cup and sets it on the table beside the couch.

“I think you’ve had enough to drink for now,” she says.

Rachel squints a little, trying to find the other girl in the dim lighting. “I have to disagree.”

She looks so ridiculous, glaring and swaying in her seat, that Quinn can’t help but laugh.

“Don’t laugh at me like that, Fabray,” Rachel orders, swatting her arm. “It’s hurtful.”

“I’m not laughing at you, Rachel.” Rachel sticks her tongue out. “Fine. Don’t believe me.”

Rachel is silent for a few minutes, just leaning into Quinn’s side a little.

Quinn looks around the room again, at the teenagers drinking, laughing, dancing, making out in the corners. Most of them are drunk and almost none of them are in the cast of the play.

Quinn scoffs, but cuts herself short when she feels someone playing with her hair.

Frowning, she turns her head to look over at Rachel with one eyebrow arched. “What are you doing?” she asks and Rachel shakes her head, not meeting Quinn’s eyes.

“I don’t want Finn to take my virginity, Quinn,” she whispers, so softly that Quinn almost doesn’t hear her.

The state of Quinn’s frown worsens and she reaches out, grabbing Rachel’s hand to get her attention. “Hey,” she says, tilting Rachel’s head up with her free hand. “No one is going to make you sleep with Finn, Rachel. It’s entirely up to you.”

Rachel wrenches her hand away and casts her eyes to floor again. “It’s just…stupid Tina…and her stupid ‘first love’ shit.”

Quinn makes a face at the sound of her cursing—she’s certainly not used to it—but nods in understanding.

“And I started thinking, you know, Finn’s not my first love.”

She doesn’t elaborate and Quinn is so, so glad for it because she has all of these emotions trying to claw their way out of her. She doesn’t think she would be able to continue biting her tongue if Rachel kept up that particular train of thought.

Rachel sighs again. “I love him,” she murmurs. “But he’s not.”

Quinn hopes against hope that that’s the end of that.

And the thing is, she actually feels sorry for Finn.

He really does mean well—most of the time—even if he doesn’t always go about it the way he should. He does love Rachel and he wants the best for her, even if it’s just in the context of what’s best for _him_.

Quinn is sure that he wants this with Rachel, that bond of intimacy, but she also knows that, if Rachel doesn’t think he’s her first love—whatever she’d meant by that—if she’s having second thoughts about such a huge decision, then she shouldn’t go through with it.

Quinn doesn’t have anything against Finn, but she cares more for Rachel’s best interest than for his. It’s nothing personal—she gets along with him just fine so long as she doesn’t have to spend any time with him—but she meant it when she told the other girl to wait.

“Okay,” Quinn says finally, at a loss for anything better.

Rachel rests her head on the blonde’s shoulder for the next twenty minutes or so, and, when Quinn asks if she wants a ride home, her nod is eager.

Quinn goes the extra mile getting her there—carefully dodging creaky floorboards on her way to Rachel’s bedroom. She tucks the other girl in and sneaks her way back out, hoping that Rachel’s fathers won’t wake up.

She wants to forget about it, clear her head as she lies in her own bed, but it’s impossible because she’s still thinking about how close Rachel had been earlier—how sure she’d seemed when she’d asked for the impossible.

Quinn barely gets any sleep.

…


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter two.
> 
> moving on up.

…

_February 25th, 2012_

..

Santana’s ringtone is _Barbie Girl._

It would be funny if it weren’t so inappropriate as it starts up, bouncing off the walls of the court house waiting room, breaking up the anxious silence of those around her.

If possible, it gets even more quiet—Finn stops pacing, Tina stops biting her nails, Sue stops her periodic grumbling—and they all watch as she glares at them and holds her phone up to her ear to answer.

Her mouth forms, “Hello?” and it isn’t until her face absolutely collapses that they realize why they were all watching her in the first place, why the call seemed so important.

“No, Dad…I mean—” Santana’s eyes are shimmering and it’s like everyone leans forward, trying to learn why. “—Um…okay…Is Judy…? Yeah…okay.” She hangs up and just stares at the floor, eyes wide.

“What’s wrong?” Brittany rubs her arm, gently drawing her out of herself.

Santana clears her throat and there’s this deafening moment of absolute silence before she shatters it with, “Quinn…s-she was in an accident. A bad one.”

It isn’t as if Rachel has ever been shot, but she imagines that it feels a lot like this:

Quiet.

Loud at first—the fireworks of Santana’s words.

Then silence as the fire of pain catches up.

There’s motion in the room, people surging forward to collect information. They were prepared for a wedding, she knows, not a funeral.

Things have gone wrong for all of them.

When she looks down, everything is diagonal. Her phone is on the tile floor now and she thinks, _That doesn’t belong there._

Someone picks it up—one of her dads, maybe—and someone else ushers her outside. Her legs move automatically, like breathing and blinking—a thoughtless function.

She’s in the car, then, and the door slams, heavy—a vibration in her utterly distant world and nothing more.

She understands what led up to this—the engagement ring, the wedding; “You…can’t,”; “Yes, I’ll marry you,”; bumping the date up; _On my way_ ; the explosive flurry of potential loss.

It’s like she’s on fire, burning from her chest to her fingertips and back again.

They’re at the hospital now, the waiting room, and she sits down on a stiff chair in her white wedding dress.

It’s a hole in her chest where the bullet went in—a fathomless abyss.

Like all of her memories—Quinn’s fingers and lips and _You can be my present this year_ —and all those things she wanted and everything she is and was going to become are draining out of this hole, this wound she can’t close.

She tries to remember how to pray.

…

_November 10th, 2011_

..

Rachel almost doesn’t go.

In fact, she sits on her bed for a good forty-five minutes after she gets home from the final dress rehearsal, weighing the pros and cons in her head.

Her fathers flit in and out of her room, asking if she needs anything, how she did, and isn’t she just so excited about opening night tomorrow?

She tells them that she is, but, really, she’s more nervous that anything.

It’s not as if she’s wary about her lines or her songs or about her stage directions, no. She’s got that down pat—probably has since the second week of rehearsal, if she’s being honest.

It’s just that playing Maria feels off, feels wrong. It feels exactly as it is—like she’s trying to play a part and not doing so well.

She’s not Maria. She’s realizing that.

Because Maria is experienced and certain about her choices—completely devoted to the love of her life.

Rachel, on the other hand, is dating someone who could list off the things he doesn’t like about her for more than hour if she let him. And, in her spare time, she’s staring longingly at someone who used to shove her into lockers and call her horrible names any time they were within ten feet of each other.

She sighs and runs a hand through her hair, still wavy from having been pulled up in the final act. Her head is pounding a little bit and she knows that it’s because of last night, of which she can recall every detail with shocking clarity.

She remembers Quinn, sitting beside her, enveloped by the dim lights of the living room. She remembers how she’d seen Finn across the room, talking to Artie and taking a long pull from his beer bottle and how she’d wanted nothing more than to hide from him—sink into Quinn and never return.

Quinn’s worried eyes and her attempt to evade Rachel’s drunken probing.

She should probably be ashamed or, at the least, embarrassed by the proposition she’d given the other girl, but can’t quite bring herself to be.

Because she’d been right—Quinn Fabray is full of passion. Passion, love, and an astounding amount of pervading gentleness that was hidden for so long behind her cheerleading uniform.

But Rachel is dating Finn. She loves Finn.

Maybe she’s not _in love_ with him like she used to think she was, but she does care about him. Even if he can’t take her to the level of performing capability she feels she _needs_ to be at.

Even if Quinn can.

Even if it’s more than that—if it’s the way Quinn reads her textbooks by following the words with her index finger; that laugh she does when she’s completely caught off guard by something; the time she’d spilled some of the contents of her backpack and a worn-out copy of _Wicked_ had slid to the floor; the stark contrast between the Quinn who’d laughed when a slushie hit Rachel’s face, or slapped her in the bathroom, or flicked her cigarrette in answer to Rachel pleading for her to just _come back_ and the kinder, softer Quinn that’s since been revealed.

Because it can’t be more than that.

Even if it is.

Rachel hears footsepts in the hallway outside of her room and she’s made her decision.

She grabs her phone from the bed and pretends to be looking at a text message when her fathers enter.

“Hey, sweetie,” Leroy says and Hiram leans against the doorframe.

They’re in their pajamas and Rachel thinks they must have come to say goodnight, but she keeps her head bent toward the screen of her phone.

“Hey,” she returns, sounding purposefully absent.

“What’s wrong?”

“Um…it’s Kurt—” She pretends to be typing. “—he’s freaking out a bit about tomorrow.”

“Oh.” She glances up and they’re exchanging a troubled look.

“Actually, would it be okay if I ran over there real fast? I know it’s late, just…” She pauses. “Never mind. I’ll just call him.”

She watches her fathers share another look out of the corner of her eye.

“Um…actually, hon, if your friend needs you—” Hiram starts.

“As long as you’re safe,” Leroy throws in.

“—you can run over there, real quick like a bunny. Just be careful.”

She feigns shock. “Are you sure?”

“Of course.”

“Absolutely.”

She smiles at them with faux relief and appreciation. “Okay, um…I’ll be quick.” She gets up and pulls a jacket on over her dress. “Thank you.” She leans up and gives them both a quick peck on the cheek before rushing down the stairs and out the door before they can change their minds.

She doesn’t really have a plan until she’s sitting in her parked car in the Fabray’s driveway.

The house looms over her, with only a couple of lights on—enough, she thinks, to ensure that someone is awake. Tentatively, she pulls the key out of the ignition, slips it into her coat pocket and gets out of the car.

The walk up is the slowest she’s ever moved, the sound of her kuckles on the elegant wood of the front door loud and thunderous—she’s certain that it’s woken up everyone on the block.

She waits.

No one comes to the door, but she doesn’t knock again.

It’s several agonizing moments later that she turns to go.

“What were you thinking, Rachel?” she mumbles under her breath as she walks down the porch steps and toward her car. “Stupid, stupid, _stupid_.”

The sound of the door swinging open behind her and the subsequent beam of light that flows out of it and over her shadowed form stops her dead in her tracks. Her legs are suddenly so heavy that she can’t lift them.

In the seconds before a voice rings out, she wonders if she can make a run for it—pretend this never happened and go back home, call her boyfriend, get back to her life.

Then she hears, “Rachel?” and has no choice but to turn around.

Quinn is standing in the doorway in running shorts and a t-shirt, her cell phone pressed against her shoulder in a way that makes Rachel think she must be in the middle of a call.

And Rachel knows that she can’t go back to her life now and this girl is the reason why.

Because there’s this nervous, comforting certainty in the smile that’s tilted on Quinn’s face—the one Rachel can barely see in the dim lighting.

Her stomach twists in a way that’s unfamiliar and the weight of her legs evaporates. She’s being drawn forward, towards Quinn, just like she always (never) has been before.

Quinn waves her forward with her free hand, pulling Rachel in further.

The door closes behind them after she’s stepped into the house and Quinn’s saying, “Hey, Sam, um…I’ll call you back, okay?” just before she hangs up, setting her phone onto the table by the door.

“Hi,” Rachel says.

Quinn looks at her uncertainly. Her fingers open and close at her side. “Hey.”

It’s the first thing that Quinn has said to her all day. They hadn’t so much as looked at each other unless required to do so during the dress rehearsal, but now they’re standing in front of each other and averting their eyes.

What Rachel doesn’t know is that Quinn, as always, is immediately flustered by her presence—not because she’s woefully pregnant, terrifyingly broken, or brazenly unstable with hair dyed the color of Pepto Bismol, though—but because the conversation from last night is still hovering in the air around them, seeping into their movements and gestures and every single breath.

For some reason, Rachel thought everything would unfurl exactly as she wanted it to as soon as she arrived. That this would be easy.

It isn’t and her heart is pounding in her chest and ears and she thinks this must be what stage fright feels like.

“I apologize for the late hour,” she ends up saying to fill the silence. “I just…I wanted to talk to you.”

“Oh.” Quinn draws the sound out. Their eyes meet and then jerk away. “It’s fine.”

Rachel can feel that they’re alone, but she asks, “Is your mom home?” anyway.

“Um. No.” Quinn shakes her head a few too many times. She bites her lip, looks at a painting on the wall. “No…she’s…she’ll be back tomorrow. Business.”

Of course her mom has disappeared to that magical place where parents go whenever their teenagers are about to stir up some trouble—probably the same place Noah Puckerman’s mother disappears to every other weekend.

Rachel sighs.

_Perfect_ , she thinks, but she’s not sure if it’s sarcastic or not.

“That’s just as well considering the topic of conversation.” She says it to get the ball rolling, but her voice is quiet and more than a little unsure. “We need to talk.”

“About what?”

Quinn is just playing stupid. Quite obviously, too.

Rachel gives Quinn a look that she hopes conveys just how much business she actually means and says, “You know what.” Her words have a different tone than her posture, though, because the, “ _Please_ , Quinn,” that escapes with another sigh is urgent and quiet.

Quinn takes a deep breath, crosses her arms over her stomach, and waits for her to continue.

“Have you considered my proposition?”

She sounds more sure of herself now, confident, even though, inside, she’s reeling and fighting and feels like all of these feelings she can’t quite place. It’s like they are about to absolutely destroy her in revenge for neglecting them all this time.

Quinn looks at her and their eyes finally catch and hold.

She licks her lips, then chews on her bottom lip for a few seconds.

When she finally speaks, her voice is low and intimate and a little raspy.

“Yes.”

“And?”

“And I don’t know, Rachel.”

Rachel isn’t surprised, but she asks, “Why?”

“Why what?” is Quinn’s return and Rachel wonders if this is God, or whoever likes to have a good laugh at her expense, just telling her to call it quits and leave.

She takes a step closer. Quinn looks away, but Rachel can feel it—the sparkling wires of her fingertips and the hairs on her arms rising in anticipation of the space invasion. “Why don’t you know?”

Quinn shakes her head.

Rachel almost wants to scream in sheer exasperation and finds herself wishing Quinn would just kiss her already and be done with this cat-and-mouse game, this timid dancing around each other.

Ever since this idea entered her head a few days ago—hell, a few _weeks_ ago, since we’ve been talking in terms of honesty—she’s wanted nothing more than for someone else to completely obliterate any lingering feelings for Finn.

Maybe that’s not fair, but she’s so exhausted from being this person; this co-dependent, mostly obnoxious, innocently egotistical teenage girl who is clinging to her only life raft.

Because she’s none of those things, even while she knows it’s how everyone else sees her.

She can’t help but wonder what those people who are so quick to judge—to see her in that particular light—would think if they could see her right now.

She wonders if they would even recognize this person, this girl, who is standing in the home of someone she’s not dating, wishing her former enemy would just push her against a wall and shove her hand up her skirt.

Quinn doesn’t say anything else and Rachel just stands in front of her wishing she would.

The moment is gone, though the electricity remains. She knows that it’s the late hour or the persistant thought of Finn or possibly just the harsh glow of the lamp beside them that has ruined everything.

“Was that Sam Evans you were talking to?” Rachel asks, because she’d like to think she knows when to stop betting on a dead horse.

Quinn shakes her head—she’s trying to clear it, though, not answering the question.

Rachel’s only a few inches away now. Not even a foot.

“Yeah, we…um, we keep in touch.”

“That’s nice.”

“Yeah.”

“It’s a little late. Were you talking long and lost track of the time?” Rachel asks.

She knows she’s pushing it with these questions, but she’s blown her only chance and now she’s just killing time, waiting to see if things turn around organically.

Quinn swallows. “No, um…He works late most nights and…called me to finish a conversation we started earlier.”

Rachel nods. “Oh.”

“He was trying to keep me from doing something stupid.” Quinn’s voice is breathy now.

Rachel’s eyes flicker between Quinn’s eyes and lips and, even though she’s not really sure what’s happening, she’s aware that they’re moving closer still, bridging the gap between one another. “Something stupid?” she asks. “Like what?”

“Like sleeping with you,” Quinn says, and Rachel can’t keep herself—doesn’t even try—from grabbing Quinn’s hand and running her thumb over the skin of her palm. “Rachel—” she starts, but doesn’t finish.

They’re so close still, and Rachel brings her hand up, cups Quinn’s cheek with her free hand, and runs that thumb over her cheekbone, across her lips.

Her heart is pounding again and, later, she’ll wonder why she didn’t just walk away.

But right now she knows that it’s because of the way Quinn is looking at her, the way the other girl’s hand shifts tentatively, the way she pinches the material of Rachel’s dress between her fingers, right over her left hip.

Rachel is somewhat cognizant of everything becoming foggy and lost and that, despite this, she can still see Quinn so clearly, the two of them humming with electricity.

She says, “Quinn,” and, when their lips meet, her own open at once as she steps into the blonde’s arms, standing on her tiptoes to reach her better.

Bodies pressed flush, they slide together like puzzle pieces.

Rachel’s hands disappear and Quinn feels them in her hair as she is tugged closer still. Their tongues grapple and clash, as though they’re both searching for assurance that this was always going to happen eventually.

Rachel doesn’t compare Quinn to Finn or Jesse or Puck—isn’t actually able to think of anything at all. Because Quinn is sucking on her bottom lip and using her teeth so much that Rachel isn’t even positive she’s capable of coherent thoughts anymore.

She doesn’t know that Quinn has her own issues, ones that are different than Rachel’s own, even if they line up similarly. She doesn’t know that Quinn misses her daugher more than anything; that she’s so lonely it physically pains her most days; that she’s _sick_ of being associated with cheating of any kind; that she’s in love with her.

Rachel doesn’t know that Quinn only refrains from saying these things because she’s afraid of the consequences—because she can imagine Rachel pulling out of her arms and walking out of her car, driving away, much more clearly than she would like.

So, when Quinn says, “We really shouldn’t,” instead of those things—once they pull away for air, linger in one another’s space, lips brushing just the tinest bit—Rachel says, “I know,” with her eyes still closed, even though she really doesn’t.

“You’re dating Finn.”

Rachel’s eyes open at this and she nods. “I know,” she says again, but this time she really does.

But then they’re kissing again, like they were made for it, born for it, and her fingers toy with the hem of Quinn’s t-shirt before sliding them under the light blue fabric, passing the heat from her palms into Quinn’s stomach and moving upwards.

Rachel thinks that, even if she had always been planning on doing this with Quinn Fabray, she would still be surprised. She never could have imagined this—the way Quinn moves against her, the mixture of want and need in her bloodstream, of curiosity being sated and everything coming together and pumping through her like a volcano about to erupt.

And maybe this is why Rachel doesn’t think about Finn, why she doesn’t wonder if Quinn ever moved against him (or _Puck_ ) like this and she doesn’t worry about the fact that she’s cheating on him right now, right this very second. That Quinn is helping her.

For the first time, Rachel isn’t worrying about the impact her actions will have on her life or the hoops she’ll have to jump through in order to reconcile what is going to, inevitably, happen next.

She just knows that she doesn’t want to stop.

So, the next time they pull apart, Rachel grabs Quinn’s hands and leads her up the stairs to where she assumes Quinn’s bedroom is.

They manage to make it all the way to the top of the stairs before Quinn presses her against the wall and kisses her again.

Her hands drift down Rachel’s hips, to her thighs, and back up again, under the skirt of her dress. Rachel moans, vibrating Quinn’s lips, teeth, tongue, and head in the process until she’s pulling Quinn forward by the back of the beck and kissing her harder and harder.

“Bedroom,” Rachel whispers against her mouth and Quinn nods to the door beside them.

Rachel tugs her back into it by the hand and closes the door behind them.

There’s only a few seconds of hesitation, when they’re standing a foot or two away from one another, but then Quinn surges forward—like she can’t stop herself—and her lips find Rachel’s, then drift to her neck, kissing the stretched, tight skin of her throat.

She bites down gently and Rachel breathes her name.

Quinn pulls back at the sound, as though waking up from a dream. “Rachel, I—”

But Rachel shakes her head, cutting her off. She pushes Quinn backwards onto her bed and it’s like Quinn can’t even move as Rachel unclasps her dress.

There’s the sound of a zipper and then she’s standing there, blushing and smiling shyly as blue fabric pools around her feet.

“I’m sure, Quinn,” she says, finally, kicking off her shoes.

Part of her whispers that this isn’t about a stupid play anymore, that it never was, but she pushes it down.

Quinn nods. “Okay.”

Rachel turns the lights off on her way over, and then straddles Quinn on the bed, sighing as the other girl runs her nails down the valley of skin between her shoulder blades.

“Come here,” Quinn whispers as Rachel stares down at her.

Rachel obeys, dipping her head to kiss her again while Quinn flips her over to fill the dominant position.

Quinn is slow and reverent as she removes Rachel’s remaining garments, smiling when Rachel gets impatient and starts tugging at Quinn’s shirt.

She lets Rachel pull it off of her before resuming her exploration.

Rachel watches her face, biting her lip in anticipation, almost like she’s waiting for Quinn to change her mind or revert to how she’d been before Beth.

But neither of those things happen and Quinn’s eyes are wide and full of wonder at each new expanse of skin that she finds.

Rachel is nervous until Quinn whispers, “You’re beautiful,” into the space between them and suddenly she isn’t anymore.

This is what she wanted. This is what Finn could never have accomplished unaided.

Quin touches her like she might break, fingers carefully exploring, tenderly pushing the boundaries. It’s a touch that has no more idea if this is the only time—if there will be more—than they do.

She brushes her lips against Rachel’s again and Rachel cradles her face, holds her there, and tries to pretend that this is her life and not just something she begged her way into. That Quinn is hers and always has been and will be. That this is was utterly unavoidable.

It doesn’t hurt like Rachel has been told it would, when Quinn’s fingers find her. She’s more than ready and Quinn is deliberate and slow.

They stare at each other in the darkness, able to see just enough to make eye contact. Quinn hovers over Rachel, bracing herself on her left arm as she moves her right hand slowly, searching the other girl’s face for any signs of apprehension.

Finally, Rachel breathes, “Faster,” into Quinn’s ear and then they’re both desperate, clinging to each other.

It’s simultaenously everything Rachel hoped for and nothing she expected; Quinn keeps her forehead pressed into Rachel’s, watching her as Rachel’s name rolls out of her mouth, ragged like her breath.

Rachel whispers Quinn’s name back in an echo, digging her fingers into her back.

Quinn’s pace slows and Rachel’s fingers trail down Quinn’s cheek, her neck, to her stomach. Their eyes remain locked and it hits Rachel like she’s been struck by a train that this must have been what Tina was talking about.

It hits her that this is it, the last moments before everything changes—before the world bursts into color and everything is different. She prays that Quinn is wrong, that this won’t complicate everything, because Quinn moves against her like they’re made for each other, and this is so much more than she ever thought it would be.

Deflowered by Quinn Fabray, former head cheerleader and personal tormentor, on a school night.

But what a way to go.

Quinn gasps into Rachel’s mouth as her fingers slip inside, matching Quinn’s pace and they unwind slowly, raw and aching, until they’re completely unraveled.

It’s silent after that, besides the labored breathing coming from the both of them and the lack of words makes everything seem muffled, pressurized, like they’re changing altitudes.

“Is that what you wanted?” Quinn asks, the bare skin of their shoulders brushing as she rolls off Rachel to lay beside her.

_No, no, no_ Rachel almost says, because the answer is, ‘Yes,’ but not in the context of asking someone for a favor.

There’s more silence, more blocked sounds and internal popping like they’re going higher into the sky, and then Rachel reaches out, finds Quinn’s thigh with her hand and presses her thumb into the skin she’s met with.

Then, “Yes.”

.

Later, when her eyes open to the dark bedroom, Rachel sits up and pushes back the comforter and bunched sheets.

Her eyes find the clock on the nightstand just on the other side of the bed and she frowns.

It’s later than she’d intended to be leaving.

She pushes the blankets off the rest of the way and looks around in the darkness for her clothes. Movement on the other side of the bed stops her, though, and she resists the urge to turn around.

“Rach, it’s late…Just stay.”

She hesitates for a moment, then turns and looks at Quinn, with her eyes heavy with sleep, lips swollen and red, sheet draped across her hips, blonde hair mussed.

“Okay.” Rachel nods. “I’ll be right back.”

She gets up and crosses the room, rifling through Quinn’s drawers until she comes across a large t-shirt. She throws it on and leaves the bedroom, going back down to the foyer where she left her bag.

After retrieving her cell phone, she goes back upstairs, opening every door in the hall tentatively until she finds the bathroom.

Leroy answers on the fourth ring and she says something about Carole Hummel being worried about her driving home this late.

He’s tired and his voice is groggy, so he doesn’t question her, just tells her that he loves her and will see her in the morning.

When she hangs up, she reads the handful of messages from Finn that she’d gotten and ignored in the time since she’d arrived at the Fabray’s.

It’s late, but he’s probably still up playing some violent video game, or watching some vulgar television program, so she responds to his, “ _u were awesome 2nite, babe. luv u. wish i could be there 2morro_ ,” with an, “ _I love you, too,”_ and then she leans over the toilet and dry heaves for a good two minutes because the shirt she’s wearing smells like Quinn and she can still feel the other girls fingers, lips all over her body.

The most surprising part is that she feels guiltier over lying to her father than she does about sleeping with someone who isn’t her boyfriend. She doesn’t regret what she’s done right now—though she thinks that it’s likely she will tomorrow—and she doesn’t regret Quinn, but there’s something else, something that’s a deep, sharp pain in her chest, that makes it hard to breathe as she gets to her feet and runs a hand through her hair.

“Rachel?”

She looks up and Quinn’s in the doorway. She’s dressed now, with another of her large t-shirts bagging over her frame as the exhaustion in her eyes is replaced with worry.

“Are you okay?” she asks quietly, like she’s trying not to startle her.

Rachel simply nods, smiles a little.

“M’kay. Let’s go back to bed.” Quinn reaches out a hand to her and Rachel takes it without hesitation, allows herself to be pulled back into the bedroom.

She climbs into the bed and lets Quinn hold her, closing her eyes as Quinn’s heart beats against her ear.

Quinn is soft and warm and she whispers, “Goodnight, Rachel,” tiredly as her breathing evens out.

Rachel lies awake for a few minutes, content to just exist in Quinn’s arms, before she, too, falls asleep.

In her unconscious state, she releases a breath she hadn’t been aware she was holding while awake.

...


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> angst ahoy. 
> 
> don't say i didn't warn you.

…

_February 26th, 2012_

..

Judy Fabray might as well have a gun pressed to her temple.

She can feel it there as she clenches her jaw because the skin of her temple bulges and the cold ring of metal sends a shiver through her.

The cold waiting room filled with sleeping, cried-out teenagers—all of whom she recognizes, though some are less hazy than others—is the barrel of the gun; the doctors that are somewhere else, covered with her baby’s blood, slicing and dicing to save her life, are the trigger.

Quinn has been in surgery for seven hours. On top of a list of other injuries a nurse rattled off some time ago, there is something wrong with her spine, with her head.

Judy doesn’t know what that means.

She imagines one of the doctors coming back out—maybe Dr. Pattel, who’d had her and Russell and the girls over for that barbecue a few summers back, when they’d first moved to Lima—and approaching her.

They’d take her aside and sit her down.

“Lucy is dead,” they’d say—though with a bit more formality than that, she thinks.

She shivers.

She can’t feel anything beyond the fear, despair, and mind-numbing terror.

Because it wasn’t long ago, just that afternoon, that she’d held her weeping daughter in her arms.

She remembers how warm her daugher felt, how small. She imagines that same warmth is now ebbing away on an operating table.

 _This is all wrong_ , she thinks. This is not how Lucy deserves to go.

She can remember the emptiness of Lucy’s absence two years ago—that absolute nothingness that came from her just not being there—and thinks that, even though she’d thought it to be her lowest point, it does nothing to compare with this moment.

Rachel is across the waiting room—the bright white of her wedding dress suffocated by the look of loss on her face. Her eyes are downcast and Judy sees the truth of what the young girl had tried to deny—what her Lucy had striven to hear—in the slump of her shoulders.

She has been in that same position since she arrived.

It’s nearing one o’clock. Judy knows this by the way her daughter’s friends are slumped over in their chairs, most of them either asleep or quickly heading in that direction. She doesn’t look at the clock, counting the hours, instead, by the number of times Santana bursts into tears or the glee club director offers to get her coffee.

She watches Rachel across the room.

The metal circle against her temples shifts as she does and she’s used to its cold by now. It’s been rested there since the phone rang hours ago.

And she realizes that she doesn’t know the date or what she made Lucy for breakfast. What had she said right before she left the house for the wedding?

She remembers Lucy’s—no— _Quinn’s_ black dress and driving to the school. She remembers Quinn dancing and smiling—and there she was looking at Rachel again. There was Quinn going to talk to Coach Sylvester and then crying again the car—which seemed wrong because she was wearing her old cheerleading uniform under her coat, holding her Regional’s costume in her lap—as they drove home.

She can recall Quinn saying, “I’m going to the wedding, Mom,” because it had rung in her ears for a long time after it had been swallowed by the air around them.

“When?” Judy had asked.

Quinn had glanced at the clock on the dashboard. “Forty-five minutes.”

Judy had nearly swerved off the road.

Maybe it would have been better if she had.

Maybe it would have gotten it out of the way.

Because there was Quinn in her bridesmaid dress and then there were more tears and, “I’m in love with her, Mom.”

Judy had held her. “I know you are, sweetie,” she’d whispered. “I know you are.”

She knows how much she’d cried when her daughter drove way, but she can’t remember that last thing she said to her.

Judy Fabray sits in the waiting room with a gun to her head.

She waits for it to go off, for someone to pull the trigger, with her eyes on the clock above the crumpled bride.

…

_November 11th, 2011_

..

Rachel is, in a word, phenomenal.

It’s as though someone has pressed the ‘mute’ button on a remote every time she crosses the stage. Everyone waits on the edge of her seat, watching Rachel as she becomes Maria.

By the time she’s holding Chino’s gun at the end of the play, her fathers are sobbing loudly in the front row, but they’re not the only ones reacting that way.

As soon as the curtains close, every person in the auditorium gets to their feet, clapping violently. They get louder during curtain call, reaching an almost impossible volume when Rachel comes out for her bow.

Blaine has to wait for his own turn for an extra minute and a half until they quiet down enough for her to step aside.

A huge crowd of people swarms her when the cast reaches the foyer outside the auditorium, and it takes her fathers more than a few tries to push their way through it.

“Honey, you were amazing!” Hiram exclaims, pulling her into his arms and spinning her around once, twice, as she laughs.

Leroy hands her a bouquet of flowers once her feet have safely reached the ground and she hugs him, too, when she spots him swiping at her eyes.

Quinn watches from a little ways away with Brittany, as she waits for her mom to find her.

“Sup, Q?” Brittany bumps her with her shoulder. “You feeling sick again?”

The answer is yes, but not in the context Brittany means.

Quinn does feel sick—numb, cold, shaky—but Brittany is asking in reference to an actual illness rather than an emotional one.

Probably because Quinn hadn’t gone to school that day, having called her mother—who hadn’t arrived home from her business trip until later that night—to feign sickness.

Judy had considered the weekend of performances ahead of her daughter and agreed to let her stay home almost immediately, even if Quinn had sounded fine.

And Quinn was. Kind of.

Except for the fact that she’d woken up to an empty bed and Rachel long gone.

No note.

No texts.

No phone calls.

Quinn had gotten up after her mother hung up, stripped down her bed, and thrown everything she could into the washing machine—including the shirt she was wearing—before taking a long, hot shower and scrubbing her skin raw.

After that, she’d spent the day carefully avoiding her bedroom, only going in to change into publically acceptable clothing in order to get to the school to get ready for the performance.

During warm-ups, she’d been careful to avoid Rachel by arriving late and standing towards the back. She’d done the same during Artie’s pep talk in the choir room, and had even changed in the bathroom of the dressing room rather than the dressing room itself.

The only time she’d actually allowed her eyes to linger on Rachel was during the performance—the one that Rachel had absolutely stolen.

 _Well_ , she had thought bitterly, as she watched the other girl from the wings, _At least she got what she wanted._

“Quinn? You okay?”

Quinn turns her eyes from Rachel and her fathers to Brittany.

“You’re making that face my cat makes right before he coughs a hair bomb on my bed.”

Quinn makes a slightly disgusted face at this, but manages to shrug in response and not correct Brittany’s word mix-up.

“Okay. Well, I’ll hold your hair if you want, but only if you promise not to soil my pillowcase.”

“Thanks, Brit.”

Judy finds them and squeals as she wraps her daughter in her arms. “Quinn, you were wonderful!” she says as she releases her and thrusts a dozen pink roses into her hands.

“Mom, I only spoke twice.”

“But _very_ clearly.”

Quinn frowns. “I guess so.”

“And you look so pretty!” Judy reaches up and brushes her fingers lightly through the curls of her daughter’s hair.

“Thanks.”

Santana breaks away from her family just then, after several minutes of apparent struggle, just as Judy is explaining that the flowers are from Quinn’s sister, Frannie, who couldn’t find time to fly up for the weekend.

“Hey,” Santana greets, unhooking her microphone from the back of her dress and wrapping the cord around the small, black box.

“Santana, you were magnificent, as expected,” Judy tells her, still smiling.

“Thanks, Mrs. F.,” Santana returns, looking over at Quinn. “Party still at your place?”

Quinn shrugs. “Yeah.”

Judy’s eyes light up at this. “Oh, right.” She nods a few times. “Well, hon, I guess I’ll go get everything ready for your little castmates.”

“Sure.”

She hugs her daughter and then looks at them all in turn. “I’ll see you in a little while.”

All three of them wave and then Judy’s pushing her way through the overflow from Rachel’s crowd and out the doors.

“You wanna go change? I’m about finished with this stupid costume.”

Brittany looks over at her girlfriend in shock. “But, San,” she whines. “You look smokin’.”

“Of course I do, Brit. It’s just binding as hell, that’s all.” She leads the way for the doors that lead back to the drama room. “Now I know why that chick in that pirate movie passed the fuck out. And she was just standing there. I was acting _all over_ that stage.”

Santana glances back to see Quinn still standing where she was, eyes distantly watching as Rachel shakes hands with people and smiles gratefully at their compliments.

“Q? You coming?”

Quinn tears her eyes away, shaking her head to clear it and pressing her eyelids shut for a moment. When she opens them, Rachel is staring at her, looking worried and Quinn has a brief flash of the previous night—the look on Rachel’s face when Quinn had told her she was beautiful, the way all that anxiety melted away.

Someone says something and Rachel looks away, plastering her smile back on as she listens to whatever they’re saying.

“Earth to Chubbo,” Santana is saying from beside the door. “Come in, Chubbo.”

Quinn glances over at her friends, who are staring at her expectantly. It takes her a moment to remember how to walk, but she follows them through the door once she does.

“The hell is up with you?” Santana asks, as they walk down the sloped hallway.

“San, be nice,” Brittany scolds, slinging an arm around Quinn’s shoulders. “She’s sick.”

“Oh.” Santana scrutinizes her friend’s face as they enter the drama room and head for the dressing room in the back. “Well, if you’re gonna toss your cookies, don’t.”

“I’m not going to vomit. Why does everyone think I’m going to vomit?”

They ignore her as she holds the door open for them, heading straight for their clothes and costume hangers.

Quinn glances between her own clothes, piled on her bag by the counter, and the bathroom door.

It’s not as if she hasn’t changed in front of Santana and Brittany before, but she doesn’t necessarily want to run the risk of Rachel walking in while she’s half-naked.

“You gonna change, or you gonna stand there looking stupid?”

That settles that, then.

She glances at Santana, who is staring at her like she’s crazy as she tugs on a pair of Cheerio’s sweatpants.

With one last glance at the door, Quinn heads over to her things and begins pulling her costume off.

.

The dressing room is empty by the time Rachel’s crowd has thinned enough for her to leave. The costumes are all on their hangers, on their racks, and the scattered bags and her castmates’ belongings, as well as the castmates themselves are gone.

That is, except for Santana and Brittany.

Santana is on her knees looking underneath the clothing racks intently while Brittany sits on the counter, swinging her dangling legs, and looks up at the ceiling absently.

“Might I inquire as to what you are doing?” Rachel asks, setting her flowers beside Brittany and grabbing her bag of street clothes.

Brittany looks over at her and smiles, but Santana continues to do…whatever it is she’s doing.

“Looking,” the blonde tells her brightly, as if this should have been common knowledge.

“For what?”

“Brit lost her phone,” Santana tells her, voice muffled as she checks the puffy skirts of some of the dresses.

Rachel bobs her head as she begins changing. “Oh.”

It’s when she’s unzipping her dress that she catches Brittany watching her in the mirror.

“Could you please not look at me like that?” Rachel asks.

“I can and I have to.”

Rachel looks at Brittany for a moment or two and continues changing only when she realizes the other girl will not be looking away.

“Did everyone else leave already?” She pulls her t-shirt on before slipping her dress off the remainder of the way.

“S’far as I know, yeah,” Santana returns. There’s a grunt and then the sound of something being shoved against the wall, presumably out of the way. “Probably at Quinn’s already.”

Rachel freezes with her jeans halfway up her legs.

“What?”

She looks up and catches Brittany’s eye in the mirror, which spurs her into motion, tugging her jeans up and zipping them.

“Nothing,” she says as she slips on her shoes. “I just…Quinn was home sick today. I wasn’t sure if she’d still feel up to hosting the cast party tonight.”

That’s not it.

The truth is, she’d forgotten Quinn even volunteered to host the first cast party a few weeks ago. She knew Quinn hadn’t been sick because Quinn had certainly been perfectly fine last night.

But that just made it worse.

Rachel had rushed home three hours before school in order to dodge any questions her fathers may have had and it hadn’t occurred to her until she was sitting in her car that she hadn’t wanted to leave at all.

And having to be around Finn all day made her more than a little queasy.

Not from the guilt, but out of the lack of it.

Beyond that, she’s not sure she wants to return to the Fabray’s house so soon, stand in that foyer where Quinn had kissed her, talking to her friends and Quinn’s mom and—God—Quinn.

“Oh, shit, son,” Santana says, looking at her as she stands up and dusts herself off. “Not you, too.”

She hands Brittany her cell phone and Brittany hugs it to her chest, humming happily.

“Not me, too, what?”

Rachel groans internally at her own eloquence. Really, just—bravo.

“Looking like you’re gonna hurl. Quinn looked like that before she left. Whatever the girl’s got has gotta be going around.”

Rachel frowns. “Quinn looked ill again?” Santana rolls her eyes, but nods. “Maybe we should call off the party if she’s still sick.”

“Okay, no.” Santana looks at her like she’s absolutely the most unintelligent person she’s ever spoken to in her life, which certainly isn’t new. “That’s stupid. Party is still on. She’s been through worse. Can you say, ‘morning sickness’?” She grabs her coat and slips it on. “I swear to Allah, if you’re not there in twenty, I will finds you and drag yo’ fruity ass to Fabray’s. Comprendo?”

Rachel nods, but pauses halfway through it, still frowning. “Fruity?”

“’Berry’, smartass.”

“Oh.”

With that, Santana grabs Brittany’s hand and tugs her out of the dressing room.

“Twenty minutes!” she calls back, just before the door slams behind them.

Rachel spends the majority of those minutes sitting on the floor of the dressing room trying to control her heartbeat.

.

By the time she gets there, the party is in full swing.

Mike and Brittany have taken over the living room with a few other people, competing in a dancing video game that has their spectators hooting and hollering.

Puck, Santana, and Tina are playing a rather heated game of _Life_ in the front room, much to the amusement of several surrounding others.

A group talking in the foyer cheers and greets Rachel as she enters and she smiles at them before hanging up her coat on top of the pile of others and slips off her shoes.

She looks around the room, trying to find Quinn so she knows where to avoid drifting to, and is somewhat relieved, but mostly disappointed, when she doesn’t find her.

“Berry! Right on time!” Santana yells when she enters the front room and Rachel almost stumbles back in surprise because the other girl’s smile appears to be genuine. “Guess I won’t have to beat your ass after all!”

“ _Language_ , Miss Lopez!”

Santana looks past Rachel to where the kitchen doorway stands. “Sorry, Mama Fabray,” she calls and Rachel’s stomach drops.

She turns slowly and heat bloosoms up her neck and across her face.

Judy is standing by a table covered with a wide array of snacks, setting a few more 2-litres of soda on it. She looks up and smiles at her and Rachel’s never felt this nervous in her entire life, she’s sure of it.

Not even last night, when she’d—

“Rachel Berry?” Judy asks and the girl in question nods in affirmation. “Judy Fabray. Quinn’s mom.” She’s still smiling. “Quinnie’s friends are welcome to call me Judy, of course, though Santana over there prefers her own nicknames.”

Rachel’s smile is a tad forced.

“You were fantastic tonight, if you don’t mind my saying so. Really, just…awe-inspiring. I mean, my Quinnie told me you were talented, and I’ve seen you at your competitions, but tonight…just.. _wow._ ”

Rachel is starting to think Santana may have been right—she feels like she’s definitely going to vomit.

“Thank you so much, Mrs.— _Judy_. That means a lot,” she manages to say.

The older woman’s smile may as well be tattooed on her face by now. Rachel is starting to think it might be.

“Oh, you’re very welcome.”

Rachel nods and continues to smile for a few more moments before succumbing and asking the very question she wanted to avoid. “Pardon me, but you wouldn’t happen to know where your daughter is, would you?”

“She’s up in her room, dear,” Judy tells her, then leans in and adds conspiratorially, “I think she’s still sick, even though she refuses to admit it. She was so looking forward to tonight.

Rachel’s certain this is the closest she’s ever been to throwing up on someone’s shoes. “If you don’t mind, I might just pop up there and check on her.”

“She’ll like that.”

Rachel almost says that, no, Quinn probably won’t, but she doesn’t.

Instead, she gives Judy one more smile for the road, and turns on her heel, heading towards the stairs.

Halfway up, she’s certain she’s moving in slow-motion because of how much time it’s taking her, but then it’s as though everything speeds up and suddenly she’s at the top.

She pauses by the wall Quinn had pushed her up against last night and bites her lip, trailing her fingers, lightly, over the blue-flowered wallpaper.

Closing her eyes, she wills those thoughts from her head as much as she can and gathers herself before knocking on the door.

A muffled, “Come in,” admits her into the room and she quickly opens the door and heads inside before she can talk herself out of it.

Quinn is sitting on her bed, back against the headboard, knees drawn up to her chest and she looks up without an ounce of shock in her gaze.

She doesn’t say a word, so it’s Rachel who breaks the silence.

“Hi.”

There’s a sniff from the blonde and then, “Hey.”

“Can I come in?”

Another sniffle. “I already said that you could.”

“I just…I meant…now that you know who it is.”

Quinn rests her forehead on her knees. “Of course you can, Rachel.”

As if she could have said no.

Rachel crosses the room slowly, trying to suppress the inherent familiarity of being in there twice in one day—familiarity that will, no doubt, be unshakeable from here on out.

She sits down on the bed.

They sit there for a few uncomfortable minutes before Quinn says, “You were great, you know.” She looks up and Rachel can see that she’s been crying. “Every bit as good as I knew you would be.”

“Thanks to you.” Rachel’s voice so soft that she thinks Quinn hasn’t heard her until she hears the scoff she gets in response.

“The important part is that _you_ think that,” Quinn says.

Her voice is as bitter as her words and there’s a moment where they’re just looking at each other just before Rachel realizes the same thing she’d known last night—that what happened was not a mistake.

“The sad part is that you don’t,” she says before she can stop herself.

Quinn shakes her head. “Rachel, please…don’t.”

“Are we going to talk about it? Or are we going to pretend that it didn’t happen?”

She’s asking less out of bravery and more because she just wants to be prepared enough to act the part believably.

“That depends,” is the response she gets.

“On what?”

“On how much of it you regret.”

Rachel stares at Quinn and wishes she had the words to suture this. But she doesn’t.

So she says, “Quinn,” and reaches across the distance between them to rest her hand on one of the other girl’s mismatched socks.

Quinn looks away. “Can we please just… _not_?” she asks. “You’re dating Finn and I’m…me and I know it’s not ideal, but…” She looks back up. “This is just…we can’t do this, okay? I’m not ready to do this.”

Rachel’s mind is full of white noise and the only words she’s able to spit out are, “Do _what_ ,Quinn?”

A beat of silence.

“Come on.” Quinn pulls herself away and stands, walking over to the door. “There’s a party downstairs.

Rachel watches her retreat and she’s furious all of a sudden. It’s at herself, she thinks, and not Quinn, which just makes her angrier. “Quinn would you just stop running and fucking _talk_ to me?”

Quinn freezes.

She doesn’t turn around, seemingly solidified in her spot by the harsh tone of Rachel’s voice.

Rachel gets to her feet and moves forward until they’re closer than they’ve been all day and she says, “I don’t regret last night,” because it’s true and it feels right and if she doesn’t say _something_ Quinn is going to walk away.

Vaguely, she’s aware that the room is spinning from the force of all the things they’re leaving unsaid.

“Maybe I…regret lying to Finn and…my dads and—” _Myself,_ she doesn’t add. “—but I care about you, okay? I always have and I want…I need you in my life, especially…especially now. And I know that you’re upset or-or disgusted with me, maybe. I know that you can’t even look at me.”

Quinn turns and glances at her and then quickly away, looking properly chastised.

Rachel reaches out, like she’s going to touch her, but stops herself short.

“What happened last night—” she continues, “—whether I regret it or you regret it…it happened, okay? It did and now we have to deal with what that means, but…I don’t want to deal with it without you. I can’t…I know you said you’re not ready to…to ‘do this’, but…can you please just…try?”

She watches the girl in front of her, eyes tracing the set of her shoulders, and it’s terrifying to think that she knows this person better than she knows anyone else in her life.

Slowly, achingly Quinn looks up at her and holds her gaze.

“Rachel,” she says after a moment. “I… _Finn_ …” She shakes her head and Rachel glances away and then back again. “I need time, alright? Just…time.”

She doesn’t deny being upset or disgusted and Rachel feels a sinking weight in her gut.

Still, she nods because she’s already asked so much of Quinn.

“Okay,” she says quietly. “Okay.”

She says it like it’s the last words left in her vocabulary—like the two of them are running out of time. Maybe they are.

After a moment, she can feel Quinn’s hands—her warm, soft hands that Rachel can still recall gliding over her body with absolute reverence—as they cup her face, drawing her eyes up.

“You were wonderful tonight, Rachel,” Quinn tells her and it’s hard for Rachel to see with the moisture that’s begun to collect in her eyes. “Magnificent.”

The words wrap around them before dissipating in the air and Rachel realizes after a second that she’s waiting for something—for Quinn to take back her request for time, for Quinn to kiss her, _something_.

Nothing happens but Quinn saying, “Come on,” and pulling herself away.

She leaves the room and Rachel listens to her hesitant footsteps on the stairs.

It isn’t until they’ve faded out entirely that she can bring herself to follow.

...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> references to West Side Story and The Pirates of the Caribbean. 
> 
> probably a few other things i'm forgetting.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> takes place during Mash Off in season three and mostly follows that, barring Faberry interactions.

…

_February 26th, 2012_

..

Rachel doesn’t move, for fear that anything she does might somehow negatively affect what’s happening in the operating room.

She has no idea how long it has been, but she knows it’s late.

Kurt is slumped a little in the chair to her right and Finn is actually asleep across from her—his head rested against the wall.

She can hardly bring herself to look at him, so she looks down at her hands and tries to remember how Quinn’s skin, hair, everything had felt under them.

She waits.

Eventually, a doctor walks out in scrubs.

Those that are still awake perk up.

Across the room, Judy gets to her feet shakily and approaches the man.

Rachel resists the overwhelming urge to stand and join them while Kurt squeezes her hand.

They talk in hushed voices and Rachel keeps her eyes trained on Judy’s face, carefully watching for any sign of grief.

There is none and the man pats her on the shoulder before her turns to go.

Judy stands there, shell-shocked, for a few moments before announcing, “She, um…she’s out of surgery for now…She may have to have more…one for her head, maybe, tomorrow…” She pauses and everyone is awake now, waiting for the rest of it. “She’s in the ICU now and they won’t allow visitors…until…until tomorrow. So…if you would like t-to go home…until then…”

She never finishes, but they get the idea.

She’s shaky and looks like she may collapse as the vast majority of those waiting around rise and gather their things.

Ms. Pillsbury and Mr. Schuester, who are the first to their feet, hug her tightly before leaving.

Sue gives Judy a firm and solemn nod on her way out, a singular shoulder squeeze.

Everyone else trickles out slowly, stopping to say a few, quiet words to the mother of their friend before they go.

Kurt says goodnight and gets up to leave when Finn does, squeezing Rachel’s hand one more time before walking out.

Finn gives Rachel a look like he wants to say something to her, but, ultimately ends up following his stepbrother out without a word.

“Honey, you should come home. Get some rest,” Hiram says, as he and his husband approach their daughter.

Rachel looks up at them, certain she has lost the ability to speak.

“You won’t be able to see her until tomorrow anyway,” Leroy adds.

She has no idea how to explain in words that she can’t just leave. And, even if she did, she’s not sure her throat could manage it.

She doesn’t know how to tell them that it feels like a huge part of her heart has been sucked out of her chest—that this pain will only worsen the further away she is.

So she shakes her head firmly, just once.

Her dads stare at her for a moment, then look at each other.

“At least come home long enough to change,” Hiram says and gets another head shake in reply.

Rachel looks down at herself and almost starts crying when she realizes that she’s still in her wedding dress.

“I, um…I have some c-clothes she can borrow if she wants to stay.”

It takes Rachel a moment to realize that it’s Santana who’s spoken from a few seats down.

She’s leaning against Brittany, looking defeated and weary, and they’re the only other two—besides Judy and Sam—who appear to have any intention of sticking around.

The Berry men look at her.

“Are you sure?”

She nods.

“Okay, then.” Hiram leans over and kisses his daughter’s forehead. “We’ll see you in the morning, sweetie.”

“Try to get some rest,” Leroy murmurs as he mimic’s his husbands actions.

And then they’re gone.

Rachel sits there for barely a moment before Santana says, “I’ll be right back,” and Brittany scoots over a few seats to be closer.

Santana is back within a few minutes, holding two red Cheerio’s duffle bags. She hands one to Brittany and they lead Rachel to the closest restroom.

Brittany starts changing the moment they’re inside and a pile of clothing is unceremoniously dumped into Rachel’s arms.

“They’re clean. Don’t worry,” Santana tells her, slipping off her bridesmaid dress.

Rachel drops her crumpled veil to the floor and starts to tug at the white fabric covering her skin.

It isn’t until she’s already out of her wedding dress, wearing the black sweatpants, and about to pull on the t-shirt that she reads the name on the back—the one that matches the name on the sweater she’d also been given. ‘Fabray’ stares at her from the red fabric with harsh, white letters and her eyes prickle with tears.

Santana must see the look on her face because she says, “Q…always leaves her shit lying around, you know? You should see her bedroom.”

Brittany nods in agreement and Rachel tries not to say that she _has_ seen Quinn’s bedroom—that she finds it endearing.

“I was gonna give ‘em back to her. She won’t mind you wearin’ ‘em.”

Rachel stares at the clothes for another moment before slipping them on quickly.

When they get back out to the waiting room—when her wedding dress is safely stuffed in the bottom of Santana’s duffle bag—Judy is on the phone and Sam is sitting across from her with his head in his hands.

Rachel pauses, looking at them—“Just call me when, okay, sweetie? I love you.”—and then tentatively takes a seat beside Sam.

He looks up at her with red-rimmed eyes and she looks at her lap.

He’s silent, but then he says, “It’s not your fault, Rachel.”

She lasts all of five seconds before she’s sobbing, openly and loudly, for the first time since they got the news all those hours ago.

Sam gathers her in his arms and she cries into his chest while he shushes her.

It’s not until she thinks she’s out of tears that she realizes she has three sets of arms around her.

Brittany and Santana must have slipped in when she wasn’t paying attention and the tears start back up again when she realizes that all three of them are also crying now.

Judy dismisses herself with a flimsy excuse, but they stay like that for a long time.

After a while, Brittany and Santana slip into the chairs on Rachel’s other side. Santana’s hand remainds clasped between Rachel’s and Sam keeps his arm around her.

She whispers, “I’m in love with her,” in a raspy, unfamiliar voice sometime after the two girls beside her fall into an uncomfortably restless sleep.

Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Sam nod. “I know you are.”

He doesn’t add that Quinn had known also, but she wishes he would.

“She’s always loved you, you know,” he _does_ say, but Rachel thinks she already knew that. “She was just…bad at showing it sometimes.” He laughs, dryly. “Almost as bad as you.”

Rachel wants to smile, but can’t bring herself to.

“She…can’t…” She looks at him, feeling the wet sting of tears in her eyes, even though she’d thought she was cried out. “She can’t… _die_ …I’m not…I mean…I will too.”

He frowns, eyebrows low. “She’s going to be okay.” His voice is fiercer than she’s ever heard it. “She’s not…she’ll be fine. She’s a fighter. You know that. She’ll be…She’ll be fine.”

He sounds so convinced that it hurts a little.

She doesn’t— _can’t_ —believe him, though, because, despite his words, there’s fear in his eyes.

But she says, “Okay,” as she leans into his shoulder, wishing some of his strength would bleed into her.

He strokes her hair and, eventually, she’s able to cry herself to sleep.

…

_November 14th, 2011_

_.._

Quinn, it turns out, is really good at keeping her distance.

Not physically, necessarily, because she shows up to school and even glee rehearsals.

But it’s easy to see that she’s not there.

Not at all.

Something about the way she avoids making eye contact hurts Rachel more than she’d care to admit.

She tries to ignore it.

She throws herself into her campaign for class president and practicing for the mash-off wholeheartedly. She works on her application to NYADA.

She stops trying to catch Quinn’s eye and lets the other girl stay as far away as she needs to.

It’s hard to ignore the pain her chest, though—the pain that appeared sometime after Quinn left her in that bedroom during the party.

It throbs sharply whenever Rachel sees Quinn in classes or the halls, but especially when Quinn is dancing or singing or generally acting as though nothing has changed.

Rachel can’t tell if Quinn is actually perfectly fine with the way this has progressed, or if she’s just a very talented actress.

For as dense as he usually is, Finn notices that something is up, though no one else seems to.

He arrives at her doorstep Monday night after the musical has finished with a bouquet of flowers and a box of chocolates—which are non-vegan, of course, so she won’t be able to eat them, but it’s the thought that counts.

“I’m sorry for whatever I did to make you mad,” he tells her, as he steps into the front room and watches her close the door.

Rachel frowns and looks down at the flowers in her hands. “What makes you think you did something wrong, Finn?”

He shrugs and stuffs his hands into his pockets. “I don’t know. You just seem sad and stuff. And usually when you’re sad you’re not actually sad, you’re mad and it’s usually because I said something stupid or intrasensitive—”

“ _Insensitive_ ,” Rachel corrects automatically.

“Whatever. Point is—I’m sorry, okay?” His eyes are hopeful as he looks down at her. “Please forgive me.”

Tears build up behind her eyes and she bites her lip hard to keep from telling him everything. Because she can’t—it would hurt him, break him, maybe, and who would hurt a guy who shows up at your house with flowers because he thinks he did something wrong?

Who could be that heartless?

So she says, “It’s not you, Finn,” quietly and relief lights up his face.

“It isn’t?”

She shakes her head.

“Thank God! I was racking my brain trying to figure out what I did.” He pauses and takes a step forward, lowering his voice a little. “What’s wrong, then?”

“It’s just…” She pauses, trying to think of something that sounds believable. “Everything with the Treble Tones and…and NYADA. I’m just…stressed.”

He nods. “Yeah. I know what you mean. Santana’s been horrible lately and like, way worse than usual.”

She bobs her head. “Yeah,” she says. “She has.”

“Maybe we should talk to her, try to get her to cut us some slack,” he suggests.

Rachel thinks this is actually a horrible plan, but she doesn’t say that. Instead she says, “Yeah. That sounds like it would be very effective.”

Except Finn doesn’t always register sarcasm and he grins and says, “I’ll try tomorrow.”

“Sounds good,” she mutters, looking at her feet.

“Yeah.” He trails off happily, pleased with himself. “Hey, if you’re not actually mad at me, can I have the chocolate back? I haven’t eaten in like…an hour.”

She looks up at him, thinking that he must be kidding and sighs when she sees that he’s serious. “Sure.”

She hands him the box and he grins.

“Thanks, babe.”

He kisses her on the cheek before leaving a minute later and somehow she feels worse when he’s gone.

.

Tuesday is worse than Monday, for some reason.

Rachel barely manages to make it through her classes without bursting into tears at the sight of Quinn—the same girl who’d held her and kissed her and whispered how beautiful she was.

She’s doing okay, holding it in, until Shelby says, “I’m so proud of you,” when she goes to leave the stage later that day.

Rachel freezes her movements and everything in her stops, except for her lower lip which starts to tremble.

“You are truly a star, Rachel,” Shelby says, and she turns around to face this woman who’s done nothing but leave her behind time and time again.

“And it’s still all out there in front of you,” Shelby continues. “I’m not gonna be the first person to be a little jealous of all the amazing things you have lying ahead. I’m just going to be the only one who’s also cheering you on.”

Rachel takes a step forward and manages to find her voice in order to say, “Maybe you could come to my Broadway debut.”

Shelby’s smile is blinding and she says, “Ooh, don’t try to stop me,” and Rachel laughs because she’s trying very hard not to cry.

They stand there in silence for a moment and then Rachel hands back the folder with her letter of recommendation and resume.

“Maybe,” she starts quietly, “You could write your own version of the letter.”

Shelby looks shocked, but takes the folder anyway.

“I would be honored,” she tells her with a smile, and something about the look in her eyes makes Rachel finally crack and then she’s crying and she can’t stop.

Because she wasn’t completely lying when she told Finn was stressed. She is. She’s breaking under the weight of her expectations—of NYADA and the club and Quinn and now this, her mother, who apparently has decided to love her again.

“Hey, Rachel, hey.” Shelby gets to her feet and folds the younger girl into her arms. “Hey, sweetie, what’s wrong?”

But that only makes it harder for Rachel to stop and she keeps her arms tight around her books and herself and buries her face into her mother’s shoulder as the tears continue to fall.

She thinks about Kurt’s estrangement and the Treble Tones and Finn’s misguided apologies and there’s her mother again, holding her and willing to love her now. She thinks about Quinn and how they haven’t been able to maintain eye contact since Friday.

Shelby holds her tighter and whispers that everything will be alright and Rachel tries very hard to believe that it’s true.

.

By the time Rachel has cleaned up her face and changed into appropriate clothing, everyone else is already in the gym warming up.

Shelby had been reluctant to let her go until she knew what was going on and Rachel had wanted so badly to tell her everything that she’d hurried away without so much as a goodbye.

Her eyes are puffy and red and the last thing she wants to do is be around Quinn, but she made a commitment to being there and she’s always been a woman of her word.

No one even greets her as she enters.

Her teammates have formed a circle and are stretching and throwing a dodge ball around, and she briefly makes as though to join them.

But Quinn is in the group and the blonde glances at her for the first time since Friday as she approaches.

Rachel stops walking and takes in the sight of the other girl, feeling the warmth of tears start back up as hazel meets brown.

If Quinn is hurting, she’s doing a good job of hiding it, even as she averts her eyes and tosses one of the balls to Mike.

Kurt, who is tying one of his sneakers nearby, seems to be a much safer option, even if they’re not really talking right now.

“You know,” Rachel starts, coming to a stop beside him and trying to keep her voice steady. “We could probably just make a run for it before this gets ugly and no one would even miss us. Leave the dangerous activities to the most athletic members of our group.”

Kurt continues tying his show and doesn’t even look up.

“How’s your NYADA application going?” she tries, hoping this new tantic will garner a response. “They’re due next week.”

Still nothing.

She takes a deep breath and looks away, wondering why she thought coming to him, the best friend she pushed away, would be the better option.

She feels something slide down her cheek and swipes at it with the pad of her index finger.

“I-I…really, I…I really miss you, Kurt,” she’s saying and it’s like all of this building pain has made her lose control over herself. “And I n-need you right now…and I just…I really want to be your friend again.”

He doesn’t even have the decency to look at her as he says, “Well, maybe you should have thought of that before you walked all over me in your borderline-sociopathic climb to the top.”

He walks away, leaving her to stand on her own.

The game starts a few minutes later and it takes all of five seconds for her to get out once it does. She doesn’t even try to move out of the way of the ball Mercedes sends her way, letting it hit her directly in the stomach.

It probably should have hurt, but she doesn’t care.

She goes to the back of their side of the gym and stands with her arms crossed over her stomach, waiting for it to be over.

Slowly, her teammates start to trickle over as they, too, get out.

Artie is first and he offers her a high five she doesn’t return as he rolls over to her.

Rory is next, but he doesn’t seem bothered at all, despite getting smacked in neck with two pounds of pressurized rubber.

It’s when Quinn gets sent over to them, after Brittany aims a ball at her face and hits her target, that Rachel regrets not bailing in the first place.

The blonde stands by Rory, leaning back against the wall with her feet crossed in front of her—the picture of ease and perfection.

“This game is fierce, yo,” Artie says and Rachel looks down at the waxed wood of the floor.

“It’s much more brutal than I thought it would be,” Rory comments.

“Welcome to American public school,” Quinn tells him, amusement in her voice and Rachel sucks in a deep breath, biting her lip and trying, trying, trying not to start crying again.

The boys laugh at this and then Tina or someone catches one of the dodge balls thrown her way and turns back to yell, “Rachel! You’re back in!”

She shakes her head quickly, hoping she won’t have to speak in front of Quinn, but knowing she probably will.

“You don’t want back in?” Artie asks, and she shakes her head again. “I’ll go. Keep the faith, my friends.”

He rolls back off into the midst of the game and Rory scoots over to fill the gap left behind.

It takes only a few more minutes of gameplay for another ball to be caught on their side, so that Rachel is beckoned to rejoin them again.

“Rory, you go,” she mutters quietly, so only he can hear.

He frowns at her. “You’re sure?”

“Yeah, go. You’re better at this than me.”

She’s not actually sure if this is true or not, but Rory accepts it and smiles at her, jogging out to help the others.

It’s only once he’s gone that she realizes what a mistake that was.

Quinn is now the only other person besides her that’s out and they’re alone.

She feels eyes on her before she hears Quinn’s quiet, “Hey,” that’s aimed in her direction.

Closing her eyes, she tries to stop the shaking of her legs as she looks over at the other girl.

Quinn is watching her, looking serene and calm, but also like there’s something deeper she’s not saying.

Rachel has to remind herself that there probably is.

She feels hot all of a sudden—suffocated, like she’s dying—because of the way this girl is looking at her and she wants to ignore her, leave maybe, but she ends up breathing, “Hey,” instead.

Quinn smiles briefly, thoughtlessly, and opens her mouth to say something else.

Rachel waits for whatever it is breathlessly.

“Rachel, babe! Hey! You’re back in! Come on!”

Rachel tears her gaze away to see Finn waving at her excitedly and she shakes her head firmly at him.

“I’ll go,” Quinn says and Rachel looks back over at her.

She wants to stop her, grab her wrist and ask what she was going to say, see if they can fix this, whatever it is, maybe.

Instead, she nods and watches Quinn walk back out into the main part of the gym.

She’s able to bear two more minutes of standing there before leaving.

No one even notices.

.

That night, Finn texts her that they lost to the Treble Tones.

He doesn’t ask where she went or why she left.

She spends the night hugging a pillow to her chest and trying not to cry or imagine Quinn on the empty side of her bed.

And this is ridiculous—pathetic.

She’s not dating Quinn—has no right to feel this way, to have this horrible pain in her chest because of the girl.

She was never dating Quinn and she knew that going into it.

This is the same girl who made her life hell for two years, who ignored her all of the prior year until actually physically assaulting her in the bathroom at prom.

But Rachel has always felt drawn to her despite these things. She has always wanted to impress Quinn and make Quinn like her and they were so, so close to being on friendly terms. She was so close to having the real Quinn, not the façade, in her life in a positive way and now that’s gone.

Because Quinn isn’t looking at her or talking to her and Rachel can’t help but remember the gentle pull of Quinn’s fingers on her body the week before—the careful press of lips against her own.

Everything is such a mess.

.

Their group is the first to perform for the mash-off.

Finn smiles when their paper covers the Treble Tones’s rock and kisses Rachel on the cheek.

They get changed in the restrooms by the choir room and Quinn is already dressed and crimping her hair by the mirrors with Tina by the time Rachel has comes out of her stall.

She stares at the mirror directly in front of Quinn with her bag of clothes in her hand for a minute too long before she realizes that Tina is trying to get her attention.

“I’m sorry, what?” she asks and Tina gestures at her hair crimper, sitting in the sink and already heated.

“You can use mine, if you want,” she offers and Rachel smiles.

“Thanks.”

She tries to hurry as much as she can without making her hair look terrible and without looking at Quinn, who’s working quietly beside her.

She tries not to watch Quinn’s fingers curl around the handle of her own crimper, tries not remember what those same fingers had felt like all over her, inside of her.

“Rachel, are you okay?”

Rachel frowns and tears her gaze away from Quinn, who doesn’t so much as glance at the other two, in favor of returning to her hair.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” she lies, her voice uneasy.

Tina buys it.

The boys meet them in the choir room and Finn looks ridiculous, but so does Puck with his fake moustache, so Rachel doesn’t say anything.

She wants this whole thing to be over.

They perform and Rachel is so, so glad to be an actress, that’s all.

She’s glad she can pretend to be happy and upbeat when, really, it feels like she’s losing a bit more of herself every day.

During Quinn’s solo, Rachel stares resolutely at the opposite wall of the auditorium, because she can’t look at the bouncing blonde in front of her without wanting to cry or take her in her arms or do something equally rash and, likely, unwelcome.

Their competitors and directors applaud when they’re done and they even get a few cheers.

Rachel waits a few obligatory moments before booking it off the stage, grabbing her things, and leaving.

She spends another night alone.

.

The debate falls on that Thursday and the only reason Rachel gets out of bed is because she knows she can’t miss it.

It’s set to take place during second period and she spends her first period in the empty choir room, trying to keep her hands from shaking.

She doesn’t know what’s going on with her, but she thinks it has to do with the fact that it’s the one week mark from the day she lied to her fathers and drove over to Quinn’s.

A week since Quinn kissed her and touched her, since she lost something she’ll never get back and maybe it should bother her more—that a piece of her is gone forever.

But it doesn’t.

What bothers her is that the person she trusted with it has all but disappeared from her life.

And, yeah, she gets why Quinn is ignoring her.

She understands.

And Quinn isn’t the only one doing it—Kurt is, too.

So Rachel thinks she must be a terrible person for putting these people, Finn included, that she claims to love in positions where they get hurt, for pushing them away.

Taking a shaky breath, she leans her head into her hands and bites her lip to keep the tears at bay.

She has the debate in less than twenty minutes and she certainly doesn’t want to step up in front of her peers with bloodshot, puffy eyes.

“Rachel?”

She looks up and sniffles a little, watching as Shelby enters the room, looking worried.

“Hey,” Rachel says quietly, brokenly.

“What are you doing in here?” Shelby asks, walking over to stand in front of her.

“Oh, just…” She trails off, trying to think of something. “Trying to settle my nerves before the debate.” Shelby nods. “Why are you here?”

“I’m on a panty raid,” Shelby informs her and Rachel thinks she’s serious for the five seconds before her mother smiles and laughs. “Only kidding. I ordered sheet music for the girls. Schuester said he put the box in here when the office gave it to him this morning.”

Rachel nods and turns her head back down, still slumped in her chair with her elbows on her thighs.

“I’ve been meaning to talk to you since earlier this week,” Shelby says. “What’s going on with you, girlfriend?”

Rachel shrugs.

“It’s okay if you don’t want to talk about it,” Shelby tells her, sinking into the chair beside her daughter.

 “I just…” Rachel swallows. “I’ve been…going through some stuff lately.”

“Yeah. I get it.” Shelby smiles reassuringly and places her hand on Rachel’s knee, giving it a quick pat. “I don’t know what you’re going through, Rachel, but…whatever it is, I think it’s important that you try to keep your head up. Things will turn around if you believe they will—if you do what you think is right.”

Rachel closes her eyes and draws in a breath through her mouth as she places her hand over Shelby’s.

“Thank you,” she says, and she means it more than anything she’s said all week.

Shelby nods. “You’ll be okay.” She smiles in a way that almost has Rachel convinced.

“Yeah,” Rachel says. “Fingers crossed.”

.

The debate goes pretty much as Rachel expects it to at first—Rick Nelson says ridiculous things that make his teammates cheer and applaud and Brittany makes promises that don’t make much sense.

Kurt is the only thing that throws her off because he says so many things that just make her so proud to know him. He’s so sure and confident and she realizes, with a sudden pang of longing, how much she’s missed him and needed him this past week.

If she wasn’t sure of what to do already, his words help convince her.

“Hello, I’m Rachel Berry,” she begins, when it’s her turn, holding her gold-star-covered index card in front of her. “And I have campaigned for president on a crusade for school book covers—a plan to save the school thousands of dollars.”

A group of hockey players holler in the stands, though she’s not sure why.

Mr. Schuester yells at them to stop and then it’s silent again.

She takes a breath before continuing. “While I consider this plan an inspired stroke of political genius, I hereby withdraw my candidacy and urge you all to vote for Kurt Hummel.”

She pauses for a moment and the silence in the room is palpable as she looks over at Kurt.

He looks confused and shocked, questioning her with his eyes, but she keeps speaking anyway.

“He’s the only candidate here who never went negative. He…He’s the one who deserves to be president.”

She looks back over at the audience and places one hand on the microphone stand, trying to keep herself steady. “That’s why I-I’m casting my vote for Kurt Hummel.”

She spots Finn, sitting by Blaine in the front row and her eyes drift to Shelby, who’s a couple rows back. They’re all looking at her proudly and she feels a surge of hubris—the first good feeling she’s had all week.

“Vote Hummel, McKinley,” she says, her eyes scanning the faces of the crowd.

As if they have a mind of their own, they find Quinn in the upper left corner, sitting beside Puck and Santana, watching her silently.

Something like anxiety swells in her chest, but she continues looking at the blonde as she says, “Vote for Kurt.”

She watches as Quinn, a sad smile slowly blossoming on her face, begins to clap loudly for her. She’s smiling and clapping and then everyone else joins in, like Rachel has performed this great, heroic deed when, really, all she did was do what she should have done in the first place.

It takes a few more moments before she builds up the courage to tear her eyes from Quinn and return to her seat between Kurt and Brittany.

.

She’s taking down the campaign poster in her locker when Kurt asks her why she did it.

He stands beside her, waiting for an answer and she has so many things she wants to say, but she’s not quite sure where to start.

So she says, “I should have withdrawn from the race when I got the lead in the musical,” because it’s true enough.

“You needed the resume boost to get into NYADA,” she adds and his face looks so cold and uncaring that she almost just walks away.

This is what she can’t take—this cool indifference towards her from the people that matter the most.

“You’re already _so_ spectacular,” she tells him, unable to meet his eyes. “But…being senior class president will just put you over the top.”

He’s silent for a minute and then the faintest trace of a smile begins to form. “Only Rachel Berry could perk up an old, boring high school debate with such a riveting twist.”

And it just feels so good for him to be joking with her again, teasing her like this, that everything feels a little lighter inside of her.

“Drama queen, I know,” she says, finally looking at him. “But…I just…I-I hated you _hating_ me, it was—”

Kurt cuts her off with a loud exhale, like he’s been holding that breath in for days. “Me too,” he admits. “Scowling gives you forehead lines, and I am way too young for Botox.”

She smiles down at the ground and hates herself a little when she feels the tears coming.

It’s as if all she ever does these days is cry, but she can’t stop herself.

She wants to tell him how much she appreciates him joking with her like this, but she can’t, so she says, “I really missed you.”

He must sense that she’s crying, because his arms are around her in a second and he’s whispering, “Oh, sweetie, I missed you too. I missed you so much.”

He holds her for a while, until she stops crying, and it feels like gets a little piece of herself back when he finally pulls away.

…


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> takes place during "I Kissed a Girl" in season three.

…

_November 19th, 2011_

..

“So, what was it like?”

Rachel turns her head from the screen—where _Roman Holiday_ is playing—to the other side of the bed, where Kurt sits, curled around a fluffy, pink pillow.

“What was what like?” she asks, confused.

He gives her a look like she’s an idiot. “You know…” he trails off and wiggles his eyebrows.

“What are you talking about, Kurt?”

He takes in a deep breath, like what he’s about to say takes a lot of air, then blurts out, “Sex!” in the midst of his exhale.

Rachel’s heart drops into her stomach. She manages to repeat the word he’s just said with a question mark tacked onto the end, even though her head is chanting _how did he find out, how did he find out, how did he find out_.

“Puh-lease, Rachel,” he scoffs. “Did you think I wouldn’t figure it out? It’s practically oozing from your pores.”

She’s still confused and her eyes narrow at him accordingly.

“So, when did you and my stepbrother do the diddly?”

It feels like a boulder is being forklifted off of her shoulders.

He didn’t find out at all—he guess.

And he guessed _wrong_ , at that.

“Finn and I haven’t done anything of the sort. Diddly or otherwise,” she tells him, turning back to watch the movie.

He scoffs again. “Like I’m gonna buy that. I know the look of a girl gone wild when I see it.”

For a second, she contemplates saying that he’s not wrong, just to get him to be quiet—she’s missing valuable Audrey time, after all—but then she remembers that her best friend also happens to be one of the biggest gossips in school.

“You do, huh?”

“Of course. That sway of your hips, that faraway look you get sometimes where you bite your lip. You’re thinking of someone. Or some _thing_. Or both.” He pauses for a moment. “I mean, I also recognized that we had something new in common.”

She looks back over at him, more confused now than before.

He’s blushing and biting his own lip and her mind connects the dots.

“You didn’t!”

“We did!” he returns gleefully, laughing and then grinning broadly.

“When?”

“The night after our first show. That’s why we weren’t at the cast party.”

Rachel’s eyes widen at this newly acquired information. “Oh my god, Kurt! Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

“We weren’t on speaking terms, remember? But I wanted to. So, so badly.”

“How was it? Dish! Details!” She pauses and thinks that over. “Well, no. Not like…vivid details. Blurry watercoler, Kurt!”

He laughs. “It was…so great, Rach. He was so sweet and gentle and just… _wow_.”

She wants to say that she knows exactly what he means, but doesn’t.

“It was…the best night ever.” He sighs and stares down at her comforter.

Rachel grabs his hand. “I’m really happy for you, Kurt,” she tells him honestly.

He smiles at her, then frowns and says, “So you really didn’t sleep with Finn?”

She shakes her head firmly.

“Hm. I guess that makes sense.”

“What do you mean?” Rachel asks.

“Well, like…when people have sex, usually they tell people, right? Especially teenagers. It’s like a pride thing. Blaine isn’t like everyone else, thank God, so he would never do that. He’s also not that sporty, jock type either. If you and Finn—or anyone of the athlete persuasion—actually tangoed horizontally, I bet half the school would know by now.”

He keeps a hold of her hand and turns back to watch the movie, ignorant of Rachel’s frown and vacant expression.

.

That Monday, she’s a tangled heap of sparkling wires, ready to flicker at the slightest provocation.

Students move noisily in the halls around her as she passes from class to class, but she doesn’t hear them.

Her eyes move across their faces, thinking, _surely they can’t know, surely Quinn wouldn’t say anything_.

More than anything, she wants to believe that Quinn wouldn’t, but she can’t help but think of all the times Quinn has done something to stab her in the back, to get others to poke fun at her.

It’s hard to trust someone who spent years torturing you.

She wonders how she’s ever able to manage it.

By the time she’s on her way to fourth period, her jaw aches from clenching her teeth together.

No one has made any attempt to speak to her—other than Kurt and Finn, that is—but this is broken with a loud, “Hey, Virgin Mary!” from Santana that leaves Rachel’s ears ringing.

Santana is standing with Brittany, passing out candy to her peers as Brittany spouts nonsensical promises in order to gain votes.

“You realize that your little speech last week didn’t do jack shit to sway the vote, right?” she asks. “As if anyone is gonna vote for Lady Twinkle-Toes when they could vote for Britt instead.”

Rachel is pretty sure she can hear her heart beating in her temples.

She’s not sure if it’s the rude—or inaccurate—nicknames or the overwhelming idea that Quinn might have betrayed her, but Rachel really, really wants to punch that smug look right off the other girl’s face.

However, that would lead to a suspension and, with Sectionals next week, it’s not something she’s willing to risk.

So, rather than taking the violent—more pleasurable—route, Rachel turns on her heels and heads straight for Principal Figgins’s office.

“You can’t let Brittany run for office anymore, Principal Figgins,” she says upon entering.

“Why’s that?” he asks, sounding bored.

“She’s bribing the students with Pixy Stix,” she explains. “Buying votes is illegal.”

He rips open a Pixy Stix straw and holds it up to pour into his mouth.

“It’s also delicious,” he tells her, pouring the entire stick in.

She growls audibly on her way out.

.

Rachel googles ways to win an election in the library after school and is, consequently, late to glee rehearsal.

By the time she arrives, all of the seats but two are taken—one beside Quinn, and one beside Santana.

She wants to turn and leave—just walk out, forget rehearsal, and go somewhere safe where she can be sure of herself.

But Quinn looks at her, smiles even—just a little turn of the corner of her lips—and Rachel thinks she must be wrong.

Quinn wouldn’t tell anyone.

Rachel sits beside her quietly for the entirety of rehearsal.

When Finn talks about accepting yourself for who you are, she pulls on a lock of her hair so hard that it hurts.

But with the gnawing in her stomach and the pain in her jaw, she doesn’t even feel it.

.

Tuesday is relatively unremarkable.

Her many how-to-win-an-election-without-cheating Google searches have turned up nothing helpful, and she has a headache by the time she gets home from school, completely skipping glee rehearsal.

Finn calls her that evening and arrives unannounced after dinner.

Her dads don’t seem too thrilled to see him, so she leads him up to her room, where he whines for the better part of an hour about how he’s worried Santana may “end up being suicidal” if they don’t all try to help her.

“Some people don’t want to accept help,” she reminds him, and he nods, but seemingly shrugs off her words.

He goes on and on about how much she means to him—“I mean, she was my _first_ …you know?”—and how he really just wants her to know that he cares.

Rachel wants to say that she does know, but that would make things awkward, at best.

He leaves much later than she wants him to and kiss her much longer than she’s comfortable with.

By the time she’s alone, she’s exhausted.

.

By Wednesday, she’s made up her mind.

She slips her flash drive—the one attached to her Barbra collector keychain—into her backpack and heads straight to Ms. Pillsbury’s office when she gets to school.

The guidance counselor looks up from her laptop—where Rachel knows, from information she collected from Principal Figgins, she is revising the ballot for the election on Friday.

“Rachel!” Emma says excitedly. “What can I help you with?”

“I just…I wanted to see if you’d maybe…” She trails off dramatically and looks at the ugly, linoleum floor. “I need someone to talk to,” she finishes softly.

“Of course, sweetie. That’s why I’m here,” Emma says too quickly, too eager to help. “Have a seat.”

Rachel looks between the older woman and the school issued laptop in front of her. “I’m not interrupting, am I?” she asks, making sure to sound both tentative and pathetic.

Emma glances back down at her work. “No, no,” she tells her, waving her hand at Rachel. “I’m just taking Ricky Nelson off the ballot for the student council election. He, um…he’s currently in the hospital for, er…hockey puck induced injuries.”

Rachel nods and takes a seat.

“So, what can I help you with?”

“Ms. Pillsbury, have you ever felt…” She hurries to think of something catchy, grab-y—something worth crying over. “…decieved by…someone you very much care about?”

She’s not sure where this is coming from, actually, but Ms. Pillsbury seems concerned enough.

“I think we all feel like that at times, Rachel. It’s perfeclty normal at this stage of your life. I mean, you’re right on the cusp of adulthood.”

She spins in her chair to inspect her row of pamphlets. After a moment, she grabs one she finds to be satisfactory and spins her chair back around.

Rachel takes the pamphlet from her, reading the title—“Everyone I Know is a Jerk”—and frowns.

She fights the urge to laugh with the, “Thank you,” she sends towards Emma.

Emma nods and smiles like she’s done some great deed.

“Would you like to talk about it?”

Feigning grief, Rachel slowly nods and concentrates hard on crying.

Being the capable actress she is, it doesn’t take long and soon she’s openly sobbing into her hands.

Emma sits stock still, eyes wide, clearly unsure of what she should be doing to comfort the girl. “Oh, Rachel, it’ll be okay,” she tells her on instinct.

“C-Can you…could you please get me…a…a cup of water?” Rachel requests between sobs. “M-My dads…when I’m sad, they…they…”

“Of course, sweetie,” Emma says hurriedly. “I’ll be right back.”

She gets up and scurries from the room.

As soon as the door is closed behind her, Rachel looks up from her hands, watching the guidance counselor retreat down the hallway.

Once she’s out of sight, Rachel hurries up, out of her seat, and over to the laptop on the desk.

Lucky enough, the ballot form is still open on the computer. She pulls out her flash drive and plugs it in, hurrying to transfer the file over to it.

It loads too slowly and Rachel glances down at her Barbra keychain as it does.

Barbra’s smiling face now seems a bit judgmental.

“Oh, don’t look at me like that,” she says. “Kurt needs this.”

The file finishes copying onto her flash drive and she tugs it out, hurrying back to her seat.

She has enough time to make herself start crying again before Emma returns with a Styrofoam cup of water.

“Here you are.”

Rachel takes it and sips it sullenly for a few minutes before thanking Emma profusely and dismissing herself.

.

That night, she prints a hundred ballot forms at home, checking off Kurt’s name on each and every one of them before hiding them under her bead.

Her dads ask what she needed all that blue printer paper for, but they don’t get a solid answer.

.

The election is held Thursday morning in the gymnasium and Rachel has a purse filled with blue ballot forms.

She stands with Finn and Kurt and watches her peers filter into the voting booths.

Several members of the glee club pass by, some giving Kurt words of encouragement, but it’s not enough to keep him from worrying.

“God, I feel like a lamb waiting in line to be slaughtered,” he sighs, rubbing his forehead with the tips of his fingers.

“Chin up, Kurt. It’s not over till all the votes are counted,” Finn reminds him, rather unhelpfully.

Rachel glances down at her purse and nods. “Yep, and you’re going to get _loads_ ,” she tells him.

Quinn passes by and Rachel follows her with her eyes without really meaning to.

She can feel Finn staring at her curiously, so she quickly says, “Look, look. Quinn’s going into the voting booth right now.”

Kurt turns around to watch the blonde disappear behind one of the blue curtains.

“She’s definitely going to vote for you,” Rachel tells him.

Kurt looks unconvinced, despite both Finn and Rachel’s matching, vigorous nods.

Quinn comes back out a minute later and passes by them again. She meets Rachel’s eyes and Rachel, feeling like she’s been caught, gives the other girl a smile that is not returned.

She looks at her companions, as if to see if they’d seen that exchange as well, but neither of them are paying attention.

Sighing, she tightens her grip on her bag and shifts her weight back and forth.

Once the line starts to dwindle, Finn heads into one of the booths, as does Kurt.

Rachel, self-consciously, looks around at the members of the teaching staff who are either keeping watch or beginning to count votes at a table, before being the last students to go into one of the booths.

She almost can’t bring herself to do it when she sees those stacks of blue paper, but then she remembers Kurt’s worried look and the way he hadn’t accepted any of their reassurances.

Then she shoves all of the paper into the box.

.

She’s so nervous and guilty about what she’s done that she doesn’t give a second thought to Quinn grabbing her during their, mostly, improvised performance of _I Kissed a Girl_.

In fact, she doesn’t even realize that it’s happened at all until after they’ve finished and she notices that her fingertips are tingling.

.

Kurt gets called down to the office towards the end of the day and they don’t find out why until he finds her and Finn after school.

“Someone stuffed the ballot boxes,” he tells them and Rachel’s eyes go wide, her stomach bottoming out. Then he says, “They think I did it,” and she knows—absolutely—that she’s really, really fucked up this time.

Kurt rushes off to find Blaine and Finn says something that she doesn’t hear because her heart is pounding in her ears.

“I did it,” she says quickly, suddenly.

Finn’s eyes widen and he looks as confused as he’s ever been. “What?” he asks. “What were you thinking?”

She shakes her head. “I-I-I…I wasn’t thinking,” she tells him, but she had been, so that’s a lie. “I-I just wanted to help him…so badly.”

“You have to go tell Figgins.”

“I can’t! I’ll get suspended.”

“Rachel, Kurt’ll get suspended.”

It’s perhaps the first time in, quite possibly, forever that Finn is actually right about something, so she lets him walk away.

.

On her way to the parking lot a little bit later, she spots Quinn, talking to Santana and Brittany by her car.

She can’t hear what they’re saying, but Brittany is bouncing excitedly up and down.

Rachel gets into her car before they catch her watching them.

.

Mr. Schuester stops her on her way out of Spanish the next day and tell sher that he’ll be late to rehearsal after school.

“Would you mind taking attendance?”

It’s a good enough distraction, she thinks, and tells him that she’ll make sure it gets done.

.

“Okay, so I’ll sing your first name and, if you’re here, you’ll sing your last name back to me. If someone is gone, you’ll all sing, ‘absent’, as a class after I say their name. Everyone got it?”

Her fellow glee clubbers stare at her as though she is both nuts and annoying, but it’s their patented look when it comes to her, so she ignore sit and starts her list.

“ _Ar-tie_ ,” she sings, looking up from her list to the boy in question.

He rolls his eyes, but mimics her two-note tune with, “ _Ab-rams.”_

Smiling, she checks off his name. “ _Bla-aine_.”

“ _Ander-son_.”

She sings the entirety of her own name then checks it off. “ _Mi-ike_.”

His, _“Cha-ang,_ ” is a little off-key, but she smiles and nods encouragingly anyway.

 _“Ti-na_.”

“ _Cohen-Chang._ ”

There’s a beat of hesitation, and then, “ _Qu-inn_.”

She looks up and scans the rows, as do the others, then they all reply, _“Ab-sent_ ,” some of them together, others a little late.

She frowns, but moves down the list anyway.

There aren’t any more issues—barring Finn’s look of utter disappointment that he aims her way as he sings back his last name—until, _“No-ah.”_

The others go to reply in the manner that they’re supposed to, but stop short when Puck rushes into the room and straight up to Rachel.

“Rachel, can I talk to you for a  second?”

She stares at him blankly and then sings his name again.

“What?”

She sings it again.

Artie whispers—loudly—“You’re supposed to sing your last name back, man.”

Puck looks at Rachel, then at Artie, then back at Rachel and sings, “ _Pucker-man_ …?”

Rachel grins and happily checks off his name before saying, “Now, what can I do for you, Noah?”

He sighs. “I need to talk to you,” he repeats. “Alone. And pretty much now.”

He’s serious—that much is obvious. And he’s rarely serious, too, so she quickly checks off the rest of her list and follows him out into the empty hallway, closing the choir room door behind her.

“What’s this about?” she asks, once they’re alone.

He bites his lip and then says, “I was with Quinn last night and…you know…”

Rachel wonders if this is what’s it’s like for a harpoon to be shot through your chest.

She holds her breath, biting her lip so hard that she can taste a little blood, but flicks her hand a little to let him know to continue.

“Well, not.. _you know_.” He wiggles his eyebrows and, while Rachel appreciates that he refrains from his typical graphic and vulgar descriptors, she has to wonder why. “But…just kissing—”

That almost hurts worse.

Rachel wonders where this came from—Quinn and Noah kissing—wonders if Quinn had cupped his jaw the way she’d cupped hers, or that tiny nibble on the tip of his tongue.

She feels like she’s going to pass out.

Or vomit.

Or both.

“But…I figured some stuff out.”

Rachel stops biting her lip. “O-Oh,” she manages to choke out around the lump that has magically appeared in her throat. “What—” She clears her throat. “What kind of stuff?”

“Maybe I shouldn’t tell you this, but…I sort of…” He barks out an awkward cough. “Slept with your mom.”

He pauses to let this sink in and Rachel stares at him blankly.

“Nothing? Really?”

Rachel sighs. “As repulsive as that mental imagery is, Noah, Shelby has not, nor will she ever be, anything other than a biological parent. She wasn’t around me nearly enough in my early developmental stages for me to see her in a motherly fashion, unfortunately.”

His mouth is open a bit, and Rachel thinks she may have lost him.

“While I don’t condone student-teacher relationships, you are eighteen and able to make your own decisions—though I’ll remind you that the previously mentioned relationship is illegal in the great state of Ohio. But, if one of those decisions happens to involve engaging in consensual sex with my birth mother, so be it.”

His eyebrows drop low over his eyes. “Oh, um…Okay.”

“Now,” she continues. “What does this have to do with Quinn?”

He clears his throat before saying, “Were you aware that she’s been sniffing around for a baby daddy?”

Rachel frowns. “What?”

“Well, she wants Beth back,” he explains. “Pretty bad. So bad she tried to set Shelby up with some pretty serious stuff that would have gotten Beth taken away. I ran interference on that, though, so it’s pretty much a non-issue now, but I…God knows why…I told her what happened with me and Shelby.”

Rachel licks her lips, crossing her arms and waiting for the important part. “And?”

“And? You just said it! It’s illegal here and, with Quinn working both sides of crazy town—” Rachel huffs at this and crosses her arms, wondering how much bodily harm she could cause him before Mr. Schuester arrives. “—she’s probably gonna blab to Figgins. Shelby would get fired and probably charged with a some serious crap, Berry. It would ruin her life.”

“Okay,” Rachel says, legitimately concerned now. Not because Quinn is in ‘crazy town’ or anything, but because, like it or not, she actually cares for Shelby and doesn’t want one mistake to define the rest of her life and career. “What do you want me to do about it?”

“I want you to talk to Quinn! Fix it. Talk some sense into her,” Puck tells her.

“And what makes you think I’m qualified to do that? What makes you think she’ll even listen to me?”

He throws up his arms, exasperated. “Because, you’re…Jesus, Rachel, you’re her fucking fairy godmother or something. I don’t know. Her Jimminy Cricket. You’re her voice of reason! You always have been. She’ll listen to you, I know it. Please.”

A look crosses his face then, something soft and sincere and Rachel realizes how concerned he really is.

“Just talk to her.”

Rachel sighs and thinks for a moment before she nods. “Okay,” she says softly. “Okay, Noah. I’ll talk to her.”

Relief washes away the worried expression on his face. “You will?”

She nods.

“Thank you, Rachel. Thank you so much.” He hugs her, though her posture is stiff and she doesn’t return his embrace and then says, “Just…let me know, okay?” before heading back into the choir room.

He leaves the door open and she watches him cross the room and take a seat beside Artie.

Finn catches her eye, giving her a confused look.

She maintains eye contact for a moment or two, then turns on her heel and marches herself in the direction of the principal’s office.

.

She gets suspended.

It’s exactly what she expected, but it still hurts because she can’t perform in Sectionals.

None of them can—they don’t have enough people now.

Simply put, she’s let everyone down.

She heads back into the choir room and lets the others know and everyone but Finn looks surprised and disappointed.

Briefly, her eyes rest on Quinn before she looks away and down at her hands.

Mr. Schuester attempts to calm them with some not-so-encouraging words and then dismisses them, saying they’ll figure it out on Monday.

Finn and Kurt try to talk to Rachel on their way out, but she refuses to speak, standing resolutely in the middle of the room as everyone files out.

Puck gives her a meaningful look as he passes by and it’s because of this, maybe, that she says, “Quinn?” when the blonde goes to leave.

Quinn halts by the door and turns around slowly, like she would really rather not. “Yeah?”

“I, um…” She tries to think of the beset way to word it, but ends up just saying, “Puck, um…He told me about, well, about him and Shelby.”

Quinn frowns and bites her lip.

“And, well, he also said that he told you and that you might…you know, tell Figgins.”

Taking in a deep breath, Quinn looks up and straightens out her back so that she’s at her full height. “And?” she asks. “How is that any of your business?”

“Because you can’t, Quinn.”

“Actually, I can.”

“You’ll ruin Shelby’s life. You’ll ruin Beth’s life. That little girl won’t have a home anymore, a mother. She’ll have nothing.”

Quinn flips her hair out of her face. “She’ll have me.”

“Quinn, I know that all of this sounds ideal—getting your daughter back and all that—and I understand that you must miss her terribly. But you won’t be the first person that she goes to,” Rachel reminds her. “You signed her away. You’re not her next of kin anymore.”

Rachel regrets being so blunt immediately.

A look of utter anguish flashes across Quinn’s face and her posture slumps a little, eyes falling to somewhere on the floor.

“I’m sorry, Quinn. I just…if you’re going to tell Figgins…let Shelby know first, okay? It’s only fair that she be prepared to lose her child.”

Quinn won’t look at her, so Rachel side-steps her and heads for the door.

“Rachel, wait.”

Rachel stops walking and turns around, imagining Quinn pulling her closer—hugging her maybe, thanking her.

But instead, Quinn just says, “We’re one person short of being able to perform with you suspended.”

Rachel nods because she knows—of course she knows. “I’m fully aware,” she says. “What’s your point?”

Quinn sighs and takes a step forward. “I know where we can get another performer.”

...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> all things referenced belong to their rightful owners, obvs.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> takes place during "Hold On to Sixteen."

…

_November 28th, 2011_

..

“Quinn, would you mind not turning so sharply? I have a weak stomach, and, if you’ll recall, you would not allow me time this morning to fetch Dramamine.”

“And I told you that you _really_ don’t have to come with me,” Quinn returns. “If you’ll recall.”

Rachel huffs in annoyance and crosses her arms over her seatbelt. “It isn’t as if there is a list of things I can do to occupy my time. Such as, hm…getting ready for Sectionals, maybe? I’m suspended, remember?”

“And who’s fault was that?”

There’s a long minute of silence after that, until Rachel says, “Fair enough,” in the midst of a dramatic sigh.

It’s Monday and they’ve been driving for what feels like forever, with much of the trip having been spent in an awkward silence.

Rachel had wanted to say something, anything, to break it, but hadn’t been able to come up with anything good enough.

So, instead, she’d alternated between staring out the window at the passing fields and telephone poles, and staring at Quinn who, for her part, kept her eyes trained on the road.

“We’re almost there,” Quinn says, glancing at the GPS mounted to her windshield and stopping at a red light with her turn signal on.

“Where are we heading exactly?” Rachel turns her head to look out the window at the street they’re on. “This doesn’t look residential.”

The light turns green and Quinn turns onto the next street and then into the gravel parking lot of a shady looking building.

“That’s because we’re not going to his house.” She puts the car in park and unbuckles. “Stay here.”

“What? No. As captain of the glee club, I am coming with you.”

Quinn halts her movements, resting her hand on the door, and gives Rachel an exasperated look. “ _I’m_ Sam’s friend, okay? That supersedes any ‘rights’ you bear as captain. I’m going in by myself and you’re going to wait here for me.”

Had it been anyone else speaking to her in that way, Rachel probably wouldn’t have listened. However, this is Quinn—the one person whose opinion and thoughts she’s always respected, even before her mean streak had all but vanished.

So she rolls her eyes, simply to show her annoyance, but stays in the car as Quinn heads into the building.

Quinn is gone for ten long minutes before Rachel decides that, after four hours of sitting, she needs to stretch her legs.

After another minute or two of pacing the length of the car, she decides that—whatever Quinn may have said—she should be in there when Sam is asked to rejoin the New Directions.

It is, after all, her duty as glee club captain.

She spots Quinn as soon as she enters, standing by what appears to be a salad bar.

“Fourteen minutes,” Quinn says when Rachel comes to stand beside her. “You lasted longer than I thought you would.”

“Where’s Sam?” Rachel asks, looking around the room that is filled with mostly middle-aged women—some of whom are talking by the bar or getting food from the oddly placed buffet. “What is this place? Does Sam work at a bar?”

Quinn doesn’t answer. She just stands solemnly with her eyes on the stage across the room.

Just then, a voice rings out from a sound system somewhere, and Rachel jumps a bit in surprise.

“Good afternoon, ladies! Are you ready to meet the men of _Stallionz_?”

Rachel looks at Quinn, confused, but the other girl doesn’t return her gaze.

“Then please welcome to the stage,” the announcer continues, “Cobra!”

From behind the foil streamer curtain on the stage, an exceedingly muscular fireman appears and is greeted by loud cheers from the crowd of older women below.

“Someone get the door, ‘cause here comes Mr. Package!”

More cheers greet the next man, who is dressed as a police officer.

Rachel finally catches on and her hand raises instinctually to cover her mouth. “Oh, God, no.” She looks at Quinn again, but has as much luck as the last few times.

“And, ladies,” the voice continues. “Let’s give a warm welcome to White Chocolate!”

A familiar head of blond hair peaks out from the foil streamers and then Sam is standing on the stage with his coworkers, reaching down to brush his fingers over the hands of the cheering, middle-aged women.

He’s wearing a hard hat and overalls and, after a moment of synchronized shirt waving, he and the other two men rip their, apparently Velcro, pants off.

Quinn still won’t look at Rachel, so Rachel fishes her hand into her bag until her fingers close around a crumpled bill towards the bottom. She tugs it out and begins pushing her way to the stage, ignoring Quinn’s protests as she does.

She doesn’t stop until she’s standing right in front of Sam, turning her head away as she holds the dollar out for him to grab.

She hears him confusedly say, “Rach-Rachel?” and when she does look at him, his eyes are wide.

Having made her point, she falls back to wait for him to finish.

It’s about 10 minutes of awkward tip-giving and gyrating on stage before he finds them and drags them back to a cold, somewhat musty locker room.

They look away while he pulls on more modest clothes and Rachel bites her tongue to keep from saying things she might regret later.

“What are you guys doing here?” he asks once he’s dressed, sitting down in a chair by a mirror.

Quinn takes a seat on the bench across from him and Rachel eyes it warily before doing the same.

“We wanted to talk to you about something,” Quinn tells him. “Well, _I_ wanted to talk to you about something. Rachel insisted on coming.”

“As I told you several times, Quinn—I am glee club captain. I shouldn’t _have_ to insist on coming. It should be an unspoken agreement that I am needed.”

Sam watches them curiously, eyes flicking between the two of them like he’s watching a tennis match. “Oh, okay,” he says after a minute, probably because he’s not sure what else to say.

Rachel looks over at him. “What are _you_ doing here, Sam? Why aren’t you working at a real job?”

He sighs. “I tried getting a real job,” he tells her. “DQ was great and I got two free blizzards a day, but it paid just over minimum wage. You know how much I made this afternoon?” He pauses for emphasis and then says, “Sixty bucks.”

He fishes the dollar Rachel handed him out of his jacket pocket and puts it on the counter in front of him. “Sixty-one. In fifteen minutes.”

Rachel crosses her arms and looks at the floor.

“Am I ashamed I work here?” he asks. “Yeah, I’m ashamed. My dad got a job working construction to pay the rent, but when my brother needs a new pair of shoes or the TV busts, these abs pay for it.”

Quinn raises an eyebrow. “Wait, you told _me_ you work here, but you didn’t tell your parents?”

“No.” he shakes his head and shrugs. “They just think the DQ pays really well.” He pauses. “I’m _good_ at this.”

Rachel quits biting her lip and lets out what she’s clearly wanted to say the entire time.

“You’re good at this because you have that boy-next-door innocence that makes you approachable, okay? You’re good at it for all the reasons that you shouldn’t be doing it.”

Sam doesn’t respond for a few seconds. “Why are you here?” he asks, looking up at them. “Other than to try and talk me out of my job.”

Quinn glances at Rachel, then back at Sam. “Actually, Sam, we’re here about Sectionals.” He looks confused, so she continues. “Rachel’s screw-the-man attitude got her suspended—” Rachel scoffs and throws her a dirty look, which makes Quinn smirk a little and Sam frowns at the interaction. “—and with Mercedes, Santana, and Brittany bailing, we’re really short on people. We can’t compete if we don’t get a few more and you’re so talented. I know that this job pays well and I know that you have a lot of responsibility on your shoulders that kids your age just _shouldn’t_ , but we need you.”

Sam, still frowning, leans his elbows on his knees and wips his hands across his face. “Okay. Say I did want to come and help you guys. My dad wouldn’t let me. He needs me here.”

“Just ask, okay?” Quinn says. “He might surprise you.”

.

Quinn is greeted by Sam’s parents with hugs and a lot of questions about her well-being.

Rachel almost feels like she’s intruding, standing there watching Mr. and Mrs. Evans smile at Quinn as she politely answers their questions.

Sam smiles at Rachel and rolls his eyes when they ask Quinn how school’s going and she returns his smile with one of her own, looking down at her feet.

Once they’ve finished their interrogation, Sam leads his parents to the kitchen to talk to them and Rachel and Quinn move to the living room to wait.

There are a few toys scattered on the floor and Rachel nudges a plastic dump truck across the floor with the tip of her shoe.

“You didn’t have to go off on a tangent, you know,” Quinn tells her after a minute. “Sam’s job may be a little…unorthodox, but it’s helping his family out.”

“I know that.” Rachel moves her hands so that they’re pinned under her thighs and stills the movement of her foot.

“Good.”

They sit in silence for another ten minutes or so—ten minutes of Rachel trying not to look at Quinn, of her head spinning a little whenever she felt Quinn’s gaze move to her—and then Sam comes in, looking dejected.

Panic rises in Rachel’s throat, but then he drops the façade and grins at them widely.

“They’re letting me go!”

Quinn gets to her feet and he tugs her into his arms. “I knew they’d go for it, Sammy,” she says, squeezing him pack.

He picks her up effortlessly and spins her a little as they laugh.

“I missed you,” he says quietly as he sets her back down.

“I missed you, too,” Quinn returns easily.

Rachel turns her eyes away, that familiar feeling of intruding returning.

She’s reminded of all those times last year when she’d entered the choir room to see them, Sam and Quinn, sitting side-by-side, talking and laughing quietly to one another. She remembers the way Quinn had looked with Sam’s arm around her shoulders, with his lips pressed to her cheek, and she almost regrets coming at all.

That is, until Sam comes over to her and pulls her up by the hand, hugging her almost as tightly as he’d hugged Quinn.

When he pulls back, he shakes her hand formally and says, “Rachel.”

She can’t help but laugh and give him a proper nod. “Samuel.”

When he stops shaking her hand, he winks and Quinn shoves him lightly from behind.

“Go pack, weirdo,” she says.

Sam salutes her on his way out and Rachel laughs again.

.

After an hour of helping Sam shove things into several duffle bags, they’re in Quinn’s car, with Sam cramped into the back, and on their way back to Ohio.

Quinn’s mom calls and she nods to her phone, which is resting in one of the cup holders by Rachel. “Could you answer that?” she asks. “I’m driving.”

Rachel nods and answers the call, saying, “Quinn Fabray’s phone…Hi, Mrs. Fabray, this is Rachel…Yeah, she’s driving right now.” She laughs and Sam catches Quinn’s eyes in the rearview mirror, quirking an eyebrow at her.

“Yeah, we’ve got Sam, so you’ll have another blond at dinner tonight.”

Rachel laughs again and Quinn can hear her mother, also laughing, on the other end of the call.

“Mhm. Well, I’ll keep an eye on her…Yeah…I’ll watch for that thing she does when she gets tired and make her switch.” She laughs again. “Yeah, that…Okay…We’ll text you when we’re in Lima…Okay…Bye, Judy.” She hangs up and puts the phone back in the cup holder. “Your mom says hi.”

Quinn glances at her. “What ‘thing’ I do when I get tired?” she asks.

“You tap on things,” Rachel says nonchalantly, like she’s had this information for years. “Kind of like…drumming almost. Like you’re trying to keep awake.”

Sam makes a confused face in the rearview mirror, but Quinn ignores it.

“Yeah? Well, you shake your head a lot when you’re tired. Vigorously. Like you’re trying to wake yourself up. And you laugh at everything,” she says. “So there.”

Rachel fights the urge to feel flattered at Quinn knowing that kind of thing and turns around to talk to Sam for the next hour instead.

.

Rachel falls asleep around hour two, her head lolling against the window.

“So, what’s going on with you two?” Sam asks, when he’s sure she’s asleep. “That tired talk was weird. What was that about?”

Quinn glances at him in the mirror and adjusts her hands on the sterring wheel. “Nothing.”

“Wait, ‘nothing’ to which question?”

“Both.”

Silence, and then, “Quinn…Quinn, tell me you didn’t actually sleep with her.”

She doesn’t answer and they drive over a bump that makes Rachel’s had thud a little against the window.

“Oh, my God. You did, didn’t you?” Still no answer. “Quinn! I told you not to!”

“Keep your voice down.” Her whisper is harsh and she glances over at Rachel.

“You Puck’d her,” Sam says, throwing his body back into his seat.

“I believe the word you’re looking for is ‘fucked.’”

He leans forward again, looking scandalized. “No. You Puck’d her, Quinn. You pulled a Puck. Except, this time she’s you and ther person getting hurt is _still_ Finn.”

“Would you like me to wake her up so you can lecture her too?” He doesn’t answer. “I know you don’t agree with my choices, Sam, and I know that I’m not in the right here. I understand what I’ve done is not okay. And I recognize the fact that I have fucked up yet _another_ relationship.”

Sam is looking out the window and shaking his head when she looks in the mirror at him.

“When I cheated on Finn with Puck, _I_ was in the wrong,” she reminds him. “You can’t blame a lion for eating when a lion runs into his pen, seasons itself, and lays down in front of it.”

“What? So, that makes it okay?”

“No. It doesn’t make it okay. I’m not saying that.” She sighs and uses a free hand to run her fingers through her hair. “I’m just saying…You know how I feel about her, okay? You know the effect she has on me. _She_ came to _me_. And I’ve never had any control over myself when it comes to her.”

They’re quiet for the next few minutes and then Quinn feels the pressure of a hand on her shoulder.

She reaches back with her left hand and covers it with her own.

“I know,” Sam says. “I don’t agree with this. But I know.”

He keeps his hand there for another few minutes and Rachel stops pretending to be asleep about ten minutes after that.

.

When they arrive home, Rachel doesn’t say anything—doesn’t look at either of them.

Judy greets them at the door, hugging Sam and then Rachel before pecking her daughter on the cheek in greeting.

She insists that Rachel stay for dinner and, when Rachel agrees, Judy tells Quinn to come help her make it.

Quinn sighs quietly, but obeys, and Rachel goes upstairs with Sam to settle him into the guest room.

Sam doesn’t miss the way her eyes linger on the open door of Quinn’s darkened bedroom, even if he doesn’t understand it.

In the guest room, he dumps his bags on the bed, and then his clothes once he’s unzipped them, and Rachel helps him fold them and put them away.

“So, how are things with Finn?” Sam asks after a while, taking the folded t-shirt Rachel hands him and placing it in one of the empty drawers of the dresser by the bed.

She bites her lip and says, “Fine,” too quickly, too coldly.

He nods. “That’s good.”

“Mhm.”

They’re silent then, both of them trying not to say the things that they want to.

“Guys! Dinner!” they hear Quinn call up the stairs.

Sam drops the shirt he’s folding and leads the way out of the door, but halfway there, he stops.

“Hey, Rachel?” he says as he turns, and she nods for him to on. “Be careful, okay?”

That’s all he says and then he leaves the room and she has no choice but to follow him downstairs.

.

When she leaves an hour or so later, Quinn walks her to her car, still parked in the driveway—she’d rushed over first thing in the morning to ensure that Quinn wouldn’t leave without her.

“Well,” Quinn says, standing with her hands shoved into the too-shallow pockets of her jeans. “I’d say that I’ll see you in school tomorrow, but…”

She trails off and Rachel shakes her head good-naturedly.

“You won’t be cracking wise when you’re sitting in class tomorrow thinking, ‘Oh, gee willikers, I really wish Rachel was here right now,’” Rachel tells her.

Quinn smiles. “So, in your head, I have the vocabulary of an eighty-year-old man?”

“Yes.”

“Good to know.” She puffs out some air that sort of sounds like a quiet laugh.

“Hey, I apologize if I annoyed you by coming today,” Rachel says. “I just…I don’t like feeling left out and…for some reason, I find myself wanting to spend more time with you.”

Quinn just looks at her for a minute. “You didn’t annoy me,” she says when she finally speaks. “I mean…I know I can get kind of…” She trails off and just raises and lowers her eyebrows quickly instead of saying what she means. “But…I liked having you there.”

They stand there, then, just looking at one another and Rachel wonders what would happen if she bridged the gap—if Quinn would recoil if she touched her or said something else, something that broached their endless supply of avoided topics of conversation.

Then Quinn says, “Goodnight, Rachel.”

And Rachel says, “Goodnight, Quinn.”

She gets into her car.

Quinn waves at her as she backs out of the driveway and Rachel ignores the call she gets from Finn when she’s getting ready for bed.

.

The next day, there’s nothing for Rachel to do but sit around and try not to text Quinn.

She lays, upside-down, on the couch in her living room, ignoring the reruns that are playing, upside-down, in front of her.

Her mind is on other things.

Like the way Quinn’s lips had felt against her stomach when she’d dropped her bra to the floor of her bedroom, the drag of her teeth on her hips. She closes her eyes and she can feel the light brush of fingertips, running below her breasts, then lower.

Biting her lip, she opens her eyes and tugs out her phone.

It’s hard to text when you’re upside-down, but she manages to write and send, _We need to talk_ , to the correct person.

.

Quinn comes to her the next day because Rachel’s bedroom, unlike Quinn’s, is void of shadows and things they don’t want to necessarily say aloud.

They sit on Rachel’s bed without saying anything for a while because they have a history of beds and history tends to repeat itself.

“What did you want to talk about?” Quinn asks, feigning ignorance.

Rachel sighs, sick of this act. “Quinn,” she says softly. “Please.”

So Quinn says, “Okay,” and then says, “What?”

“Sam knows, doesn’t he?”

She asks even though she’d been awake for the last part of their conversation in the car. She just wants Quinn to say the words.

Quinn is quiet and small for a while. She says, “Yes.”

“Okay.”

They fall silent again.

“I was afraid you’d tell the whole school,” Rachel says eventually, with a hint of relief in her tone.

Quinn makes a face like she can’t believe this. “Why?” she asks.

“Because you have a way of getting under my skin and using it to your advantage.” Rachel watches the way Quinn recoils, like she’s been struck, and regrets her choice of words. “You used to, that is. You haven’t in a while.”

Quinn doesn’t meet her eyes when she says, “I wouldn’t tell anyone, Rachel.”

“You told Sam.”

“I told Sam before any of this even happened, okay? He guessed that we went through with it.”

“Why did you go through with it?” Rachel asks it like she can’t help herself, like she’s been waiting to ask this the whole time.

Maybe she has.

But Rachel doesn’t have an answer for that.

At least, not one Rachel will want to hear.

She shrugs instead. “Because you said, ‘pretty please.’”

Rachel sighs again and runs her hand through her hair. “Can you please just _try_ to take this seriously?”

“What do you want to hear, Rachel? What do you want me to say?” Quinn looks away and shakes her head. “What would make you feel better?”

“Nothing would make me feel better, Quinn. That’s not what this is about.”

“Then what _is_ it about?”

Rachel swallows around the lump in her throat. “It’s about the fact that I can’t stop thinking about you.” She lets that sink in. “I can’t stop thinking about you or your lips or your…your _fucking_ fingers, okay?”

The expletive tastes wrong in her mouth, but she’d just been trying it out anyway.

“I cheated on Finn in the worst possible way that I could and I don’t even feel guilty.”

Quinn’s eyes are wide as she looks at her, pupils blown like she can’t believe what she’s hearing. She blinks a few times and runs her tongue over her lips.

“What _do_ you feel, then?” she asks quietly, her voice catching in her throat around the first few words.

Rachel takes too big a breath. “I feel…” She pauses and lets the excess air out. “I feel like doing it again, Quinn.”

Quinn looks at her like she’d love nothing more than to do just that—lips parted as she takes a ragged breath, eyes roaming over the other girl’s face.

But she gets to her feet and takes a step backwards, towards the door.

“Okay,” she says. “Glad we got that out there.”

And, before Rachel can stop her, she slips out into the hallway and Rachel listens to her footsteps until she can’t hear them anymore.

.

Rachel doesn’t leave her bedroom again until Saturday, when she finally drags herself out of bed and into the shower to get ready for Sectionals.

Her dads greet her as, “Jailbird,” when she comes downstairs and they kiss her goodbye when she leaves.

The auditorium is full when she gets there and she stands by the front, staring at the closed curtains and wishing she were on the other side of them.

Finn finds her after a while. “Sad?” he asks, looking down at her.

“Devastated,” she returns.

He grabs her hand and drags her over to sit with the other glee members. She lets him because he didn’t ask where she was all week, why she’d been screening his calls.

Quinn looks at her as they pass, then at the hand that Finn is holding. When she turns around, she crosses her arms over her stomach and Rachel feels guilty.

Which is ridiculous because Finn is her boyfriend.

Quinn is just the girl she cheated on him with.

She scoffs and shakes her head at the thought.

How ridiculous to think such a thing.

.

The Treble Tones are fantastic and, for the first time since their sophomore year, Rachel is actually terrified that the New Directions may lose.

They get up when the curtain closes, filing out of out and through the auditorium doors and Rachel slides over to sit beside Emma.

She stops being afraid the moment they start singing, though, because they’re fantastic and wonderful and synchronized—even with some of the core members of their group missing.

Her eyes follow Quinn around the stage as she stands and claps along with everyone else because they’re _so good_ and now she feels dumb for being nervous in the first place.

They get a standing ovation after the first song. Not out of obligation, either, but because they actually earned it.

Rachel finds that her eyes are unable to leave Quinn. That’s not what surprises her, though.

What surprises her is that Quinn is actually looking back.

Even when the next song begins and she takes her place with everyone else in their set positions

“This a story about control,” Quinn says to start the song out, still looking right at Rachel. “My control.”

She crosses behind Blaine and moves to the front of the stage.

“Control of what I say. Control of what I do.”

She looks over at where Finn is standing with his arms crossed behind his back, head bowed, then looks back over at Rachel.

“And this time, I’m gonna do it my way.”

Halfway through that song, Rachel is certain that the air in the auditorium has gottten thicker—she can’t breathe.

And she’s really not certain that she didn’t simply imagine Quinn aiming those words at her.

Once they’ve finished their set, she gets to her feet—pushing herself past Emma so that she can get out to the hallway for some air.

Behind her, towards the end of the hallway closest the choir room and door to the back of the stage, she can hear her teammates hooting and hollering. They’re on their way to another pep talk, another long wait before the winner is announced.

She shakes her head.

She doesn’t care about that—about being left out right now—because her mind is elsewhere.

As caught up as she is, she’s not expecting it when firm hands grip her shoulders from behind and drag her into the closest utility closet.

“What—?” she starts, but a warm hand covers her mouth, cutting the words off as the door is shut behind her and her kidnapper.

It’s dark in the closet, but the hand pulls away, resting at her waist instead and, once her eyes adjust, it’s obvious who it is.

“Quinn? What are you doing? What’s happening?”

Quinn doesn’t answer immediately, and Rachel watches hazel eyes flicker down to her lips in the sliver of light coming in through the cracks of the door.

When it comes, Quinn’s answer is, “I feel like doing it again, too.”

And then Quinn is kissing her, lips hot and hungry on Rachel’s.

Rachel gasps a little into Quinn’s open mouth, but is able to regain her composure enough to bury her hands in the other girl’s hair, tugging her closer.

She wants to say no, that this is wrong—‘she’ here meaning both of them at once.

But then Quinn slips her hand under Rachel’s skirt and Rachel is moaning for more, so neither of them really has breath or resolve enough for it.

Pale fingers tug down the elastic of Rachel’s panties and slip inside, finding warm, slick heat.

Rachel groans and Quinn bites her lip to keep her quiet.

It’s different than last time—which had been careful and slow.

This is fast-paced, raw.

This is the storm after the calm, the plunge after the deep breath.

“Jesus fuck, Quinn,” Rachel whispers.

It’s nonsensical blasphemy, but Quinn’s legs nearly collapse.

She swirls her fingers around, exploring mostly, because she’s not quite used to the feeling of someone else under her fingertips.

But then Rachel’s nails scrape against the back of her neck, and she plunges two fingers into the other girl, rough and unforgiving.

Her pace is quick when her thumb gets mixed in and Rachel is panting with her head thrown back against the brick wall in seconds. She comes just a few moments later with her lips against Quinn’s saying, “ _Quinn_ ,” like a prayer.

Rachel pants into the space between them for a couple of seconds before she kisses Quinn quietly, already feeling the dry, soreness of her lips.

“They’ll wonder where I am,” Quinn says when they need air.

Rachel kisses her again, a smirk planted firmly on her lips, and says, “Then I guess I’ll have to be quick.”

It’s harder to maneuver because Quinn is wearing pantyhose and her costume skirt is puffy and difficult to get around, but somehow Rachel has her hand past it in seconds.

Quinn braces herself on the wall, hunkering down a bit to rest her forehead against Rachel’s shoulder.

And Rachel feels stretched thin and wide in a way that she’s not used to and it’s almost like being split in half.

Quinn gasps a little, quietly, and runs the edge of her teeth against Rachel’s neck, causing Rachel to echo her noise.

“Fuck, Quinn,” Rachel says and speeds her hand up, her wrist at an odd angle from the pantyhose.

Any noise Quinn makes when she comes is dampened by Rachel’s tongue when it’s thrust into the taller girl’s mouth.

It takes them a little bit to catch their breath and return to their senses.

But when they do—when Quinn has pulled away to readjust her pantyhose and skirt as Rachel adjusts her own panties and dress—Rachel quietly says, “Oh, God. What are we doing?”

Quinn reaches her hand up in respond, waving it around before she finds the string attached to the light.

And then they’re being blinded by a singular light bulb hanging above them, staring at each other grievously.

Rachel’s lips are visibly swollen and her hair is all over the place.

Quinn reaches out a hand and flattens it down a little, but she still doesn’t answer.

“What are we doing, Quinn?” Rachel repeats, and the thing is, there really _isn’t_ an answer.

At least not one either of them knows how to explain in words.

.

Quinn gets a lot of weird looks from her teammates when she joins them on stage, pushing through the competition to reach where they’re standing.

In the audience, Rachel pulls a similar maneuver with the people in her row. She sits down and ignores the worried look that Emma throws her way.

Someone is speaking—the clown guy, maybe—but she can’t hear him over the white noise in her head.

It gets louder—people cheering—and she looks up at the stage.

Emma grabs Rachel’s hand in anticipation of the winner being announced and Rachel has to pull her right hand away quickly, giving Emma her left hand instead.

She blushes and places her right hand in her lap.

When she looks up at the stage again, the New Directions are cheering. She can hear them, faintly.

They must have won.

Kurt throws his arms around Quinn and jumps up and down.

Finn high fives Artie and grins out at the audience to a guilty-looking Rachel.

On the other side of the stage, the Trouble Tones stand stock-still.

.

“Did you win?” Hiram asks when Rachel closes the front door a little while later.

He words it like Rachel was on the stage rather than sitting in the audience, waiting helplessly for the results.

She nods and Leroy frowns at her.

She ignores him.

“Hm,” Hiram is saying, flipping off the TV to look at his daughter. “I’m surprised. Not that they aren’t good, but it’s hard to believe they could have won without you.”

He’s trying to cheer her up. Rachel knows he is.

But it isn’t working and she’s still in that utility closet, staring at Quinn as the light shifts around, moving like slow-motion waves on the shoreline as the lightbulb swings back and forth.

She doesn’t really care about the competition.

“Goodnight,” is all they get as a response and she may not see it, but she knows that they’re sitting on the couch exchanging troubled looks as she heads up the stairs and shuts the door to her bedroom behind her.

.

On Monday morning, Rachel arrives at school early enough to talk to Figgins.

She sits across from his desk and listens to him give her a lengthy, hard-to-understand speech about judgment calls and moral standards.

He dismisses her, telling her not to pull another stunt like that again, and when she exits into the reception area, Quinn is sitting in a chair and looking up at her.

Rachel stands there, awkwardly shifting her weight back and forth, as she weighs the pros and cons of making a run for it.

“Hi,” Quinn says finally, standing to greet her. She glances over at the receptionist self-consciously. “Would you want to…?” She jerks her head towards the door and Rachel nods, following her out of the office.

They walk out into the hallway, walking slowly, but in the general direction of their lockers.

“I’m guessing your suspension is over, then?” Quinn asks, glancing over at Rachel.

Rachel nods. “Yeah.”

“That’s good.”

“I’m just hoping that NYADA will see it as a sign of my artistic, rebellious attitude.”

Quinn laughs and says, “Fingers crossed.”

They pass by Santana and Brittany, neither of whom look their way—they just continue down the hallway, looking glum and talking quietly between themselves.

“Were you…” Rachel clears her throat. “Were you in there to tell Figgins about Shelby?”

“If I was, why would I be out here with you right now?”

Rachel doesn’t have an answer for that.

“I’m not going to tell him,” Quinn says and Rachel stops walking so that she can look at the other girl properly. “I love Beth and…and I don’t want to ruin her life. So, thank you.”

Quinn begins walking again and Rachel shuffles after her, increasing her pace in order to keep up.

“For what?”

They stop at Quinn’s locker and the blonde girl unlocks it, pulling a few books out as she shrugs. “For saying what you did. For not sugar coating it, I guess. You always seem to know what to say to me.”

Rachel’s face flushes and she looks away, leaning back against the lockers beside Quinn’s. “I hardly feel as though that is accurate.”

Quinn smirks at her. “If you say so.”

There’s a comfortable silence between them, then, but it only lasts about thirty seconds before Quinn shuts her locker.

“What do you think about Yale?” she asks, and Rachel looks at her, confused. “For me, that is. They have an amazing drama program and, I don’t know…I really like to perform.”

Rachel just stares at her for the longest time, trying to wrap her mind around the fact that they’re having a real conversation that doesn’t involve a boy or their feelings or their feelings about a boy.

Her silence forces Quinn’s expression to morph into nervousness.

Finally, Rachel says, “No, I think that’s a great idea.” She clears her throat again, feeling a little foolish after having stared at Quinn with her mouth slightly agape for so long. “I mean, especially since you won’t have me to compete with.”

Quinn laughs and it makes Rachel’s legs feel a little weak.

“You’re a lot better than you know, Quinn.”

Quinn smiles a little and they’re just looking at each other for a few moments before they realize that they’re standing in the middle of the hallway.

When they do, Rachel takes a step away from Quinn and looks at some of her peers who are milling past.

“Maybe I could help you with your application or something?” Rachel says, and it’s a statement, technically, but her voice lifts up at the end because she doesn’t want Quinn to feel suffocated by the suggestion.

But instead of rejecting the idea, Quinn says, “Yeah, okay. That sounds really nice.”

They’re staring at each other again and it takes Rachel a moment to remind herself to tear her eyes away.

“Actually,” Quinn murmurs. “I have something else I need to ask of you. A favor.”

Rachel glances at her. “What is it?” she asks, but she knows it doesn’t matter.

Because it’s Quinn asking, so Rachel knows that, whatever it is, she’ll probably end up agreeing.

…


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here's where the tweaking really comes in.

..

_December 6th, 2011_

…

“ _Fuck,_ Quinn.”

Rachel wonders how she got here.

“Don’t stop.”

Well, no, she doesn’t.

Because she knows.

But she wonders why she’s letting this happen again.

She thinks that there must have been a reason.

Not just for now, but for the first time, certainly. The second time, in the closet.

“Rachel, keep it down.”

The first time, she can write off as a mistake. Or, well, not so much a mistake as experimentation.

The second, perhaps, could be filed under a momentary lapse in judgment.

But this? Lying on her bed with Quinn’s hand shoved up her dress is not something that can be so easily labelled as a chance occurrence.

Not when it was preceded by two other similar “occurrences.”

She’s not sure who started this one.

The first time had absolutely been spurred on by her, while Quinn had been the one to initiate the second time.

But this time was almost like an agreement—a meet-in-the-middle type of thing where they’d just been talking amicably about school one minute, and the next, Quinn was straddling her and pressing her back into the mattress.

Not that she’d complained.

Because, honestly, that’s all that she’s been thinking about since Saturday, when Quinn had tugged her into that utility closet.

Hell, it’s all she’s been thinking about since that first night in Quinn’s bedroom.

So she’d responded enthusiastically—maybe even instigated it a little by biting her lip and glancing between Quinn’s eyes and lips while the other girl talked.

But, still, she can’t help but note the drastic difference between their public interactions and their private ones.

Quinn pulls her hand out a moment after she’s finished Rachel off and rolls herself off the other girl.

“You’re really lucky your dads didn’t come in here to investigate with all the noises you were making,” she says.

Rachel presses her forearm into her forehead and closes her eyes, still panting. “Quinn Fabray, you _cannot_ do that thing with your thumb and then tell me to keep quiet. It is simply unfair.”

Quinn laughs and turns her head, leaning down, as though to kiss Rachel’s hair or temple, but stops short. “The last thing I want is for your fathers to walk in here to see me sodomizing their daughter.”

“Actually, it’s only sodomy if…” Rachel trails off, scrunching up her nose and shaking her head. “Never mind. Besides, they’re used to sodomy.

Quinn’s eyes go wide and her face flushes while Rachel laughs.

“I’m kidding.” She pauses for a moment. “Well, no…not really.”

“Please. Stop. _God_.”

“Sorry.”

They lay there in silence for a minute or two and then Rachel rolls onto her side, looking at Quinn.

“Are we actually going to work on your application for Yale, or what?” she asks.

It’s the Tuesday after Sectionals, the day after the Treble Tones’s return to the New Directions and, as discussed, Rachel had invited Quinn over to work on her application to Yale.

They’d been discussing their invidual days at school when they’d gotten a little distracted.

Which, here, simply means that Rachel had gotten embarrasingly wet at the sight of Quinn’s tongue darting out to wet her lips and Quinn had noticed the flush to her cheeks.

They’d met somewhere in the middle.

Wordlessly, Quinn gets up from the bed, going over to backpack, which is lying on the floor by Rachel’s door. She looks through it for a moment, before pulling out a stack of papers, turning to show them to the other girl.

“Already finished,” she says, waving the papers for good measure.

“When did you do that?” Rachel sits up, straightening her bunched up dress and tugging it back down to her knees.

“Lunch,” Quinn tells her. “One of the perks of having open lunch _and_ being brilliant.”

Rachel laughs. “I’m beginning to think you only came over to get in my pants.”

When Quinn smiles, it looks distant—like she doesn’t quite think it’s funny.

Rachel watches as Quinn’s eyes drift to the floor, to the carpet, and thinks about how quiet the room is now—how the air itself feels still—and it’s funny that nothing really feels different.

It doesn’t feel like anything between them has changed, but, obviously, looking back, an enormous change is evident.

It’s almost like peering over an edge, a cliff or a mountain or some other incredibly—the dizzying feeling, the pressure in her ears and head that she’s felt before and always feels when it’s like this, when it’s just her and Quinn with space separating them, wondering what they should say.

When it comes, Quinn’s words are loud, like a rush of air brushing past Rachel’s body as she tips over the edge, and she doesn’t have to look to know that Quinn is twisting her fingers together in that way she does when she's nervous, or scared.

“I should probably get going,” is what Quinn says.

“Yeah, okay,” Rachel says, getting to her feet. “Okay.”

.

Rachel’s fathers are making dinner when Rachel walks Quinn to the door.

She can see them down the hall, through the arch to the kitchen, bouncing around in their aprons.

Unfortunately, they see her, too, and Hiram grins before crossing the length of the house to join them.

“Leaving already?” he asks.

Quinn nods and says, “Yes,” but it sounds cut off and hesitant in a way that makes Rachel think she was going to add ‘sir’ to the end.

He gives her an exaggerated pout and Rachel rolls her eyes.

“Come on, stay for dinner,” he offers. “We’re almost done and we’d love to have you.”

Rachel feels her face grow hot and she looks away, covering her mouth with her hand a bit and avoiding the panicked look Quinn sends her way.

He might not be so cordial if he was aware of what Quinn had been doing to his daughter not twenty minutes prior.

But he’s so convincing and manipulative, with his heavy-handed pout and the way he rolls his weight back onto his heels like a child.

Rachel isn’t surprised when she hears Quinn’s, “Okay.”

“Great!” Hiram exclaims, bounding back into the kitchen.

They stare after him and then Quinn starts following him, so Rachel, of course, does the same.

“You don’t have to stay if you’d rather go home,” Rachel tells her on the way.

“I want to stay, Rach.”

Rachel’s face is still hot, but she thinks that it has nothing to do with Quinn’s words.

“Honey, Miss Fabray has agreed to join us for dinner,” Hiram is saying to Leroy, who is stirring a pot on the stove.

Leroy turns and grins at their guest. “Miss _Quinn_ Fabray, you mean?”

Without looking, Rachel knows that Quinn has stiffened out of fear and she almost touches her arm, her hand, to comfort her.

“Yes,” Quinn squeaks— _squeaks!_

Rachel wasn’t even aware the other girl could make that sound before.

But Leroy isn’t calling her out—isn’t about to scold her for the way she treated his daughter. Rachel doubts he would even if either of them knew the extent of the bullying Rachel had been subjected to over the course of her high school career.

But they don’t know, so they don’t say anything.

Instead, Leroy breaks into the chorus of _The Mighty Quinn_ and Hiram giggles from where he’s chopping up a carrot and joins in.

“What are they singing?” Quinn asks after a few moments, leaning over so as to wisper it conspiratorially.

“They’re big Manfred Mann fans,” is the only answer she gets and Rachel can’t help but laugh when she nods, still looking confused.

.

Fortunately, the singing has stopped by the time they’re all seated at the table.

Dinner is awkward and somewhat quiet, beside Rachel’s fathers grilling Quinn on school and potential colleges.

They seem excited when she mentions Yale, exchanging a look that Rachel can’t quite read.

“We’ll have to celebrate when you get in,” Hiram tells her and Rachel knows from the look on her face that Quinn is second-guessing herself—her likelihood of getting in at all.

But she still says, “Definitely,” and Rachel bumps her foot under the table and sends a smile her way.

.

While her dads wash dishes, Rachel walks Quinn to her car and they linger on the pavement of the driveway, shifting their weight.

“Here we are again,” Rachel says to break the tension.

“Yeah,” Quinn returns, smiling distantly. “Thanks for having me.”

“Thanks for staying.”

It’s almost funny, the tension, the akwardness between them and how neither one of them moves at first, just stays where they are until Rachel looks up at Quinn to see her twisting her fingers again.

And just a couple of hours ago, they hadn’t been standing with so much distance between them, carefully avoid making eye contact. Rachel can’t help but remember how Quinn’s mouth had felt on hers, how Quinn kisses her so softly that it's almost like she didn't do it at all.

Except, she did do it because Rachel can feel it everywhere.

Rachel realizes that she just wants to lean forward and kiss Quinn again and again because she doesn’t want to not touch her ever again.

“I’ll, uh, see you in the morning, then,” Quinn says finally.

Rachel swallows. “Yeah. See you in the morning.”

Quinn turns to go and Rachel steps aside, planting her feet in the stiff, frosty grass of the front lawn.

“Hey, Quinn?” she asks without planning to and Quinn stops with the door of her VW half-open, looking at her inquisitavely.

“What?”

And Rachel doesn’t know. She doesn’t know what.

It’s just that she doesn’t want the other girl to go.

But it’s a school night and it’s late and _Finn_.

So Rachel shrugs. “Um, nothing.”

Quinn makes a face. “Okay, Berry,” she says, the corner of her mouth turned up a little. “Goodnight.”

Rachel nods. “Goodnight.”

She waves as Quinn backs down the driveway and it isn’t until the tail lights fade around a corner that she reminds herself to breathe.

“What am I _doing_?” she whispers harshly, watching the phrase turn to white fog and rise into the air in spirals.

The heat is on and the house is well insulated, but she shivers under her covers all night.

.

The truth is, Rachel has no idea what she’s doing—what either of them are doing.

They’re amicable in school the next day—have been all week—and their classmates look at them like they have four heads between the two of them when they make small-talk at their lockers between class.

Normal things: _How are you? I’m good, too. It’s getting cold._

Nothing deep enough to count as much of anything.

But still, the looks keep coming. Whispers behind cupped hands.

Rachel thinks that the entirety of the student body would likely have one, big collaborative heart attack if they ever found out the extent of the situation.

Finn seems surprised, but pleased, to see them getting along when they’re sitting at lunch.

He greets Quinn and Rachel watches the blonde look away and play with her salad in lieu of answering him.

“Hey, babe,” Finn says, turning his attention to Rachel. “What are you two talking about?”

There’s a pause on Rachel’s end as she tries to come up with a good excuse.

And then she realizes that there’s no need to lie because there’s nothing to hide—at least not as far as their conversation.

“Um, just plans for holiday break,” she answers.

He smiles. “Cool.”

“Typically,” Quinn says from across the table and it sounds sarcastic, but Rachel resists the urge to give her a stern look.

Fortunately, Kurt and Mercedes join them at that moment, steering the conversation in another direction.

Rachel’s happy for it—the distraction.

But Quinn doesn’t seem to care much for it, because she ends up leaving lunch early.

Rachel would follow her, but Finn’s arm is firm around her arm and she doesn’t really have the heart to shove him off.

.

Rachel’s fathers have a thing for films—any kind really—but their favorite are romantic comedies.

Consequently, Rachel has seen any of them worth noting and, after a while, it’s easy to see that they all follow the same basic formula.

So, if her life were a movie, she’d like to think she could predict where things would end up.

Because all of these incidents would just be the rising action—plot points, if you will. Because sleeping with Quinn was the inciting incident, which means Rachel is the protagonist and Quinn would be, what?

Maybe the emotional interest—the person that drives the protagonist to do something or act a certain way. She’s drawn to Quinn after all, has been for years, and when they’re together it’s almost as if she loses control of herself.

But the romantic comedies where the protagonist is in love with someone else and cheating on her significant other always end the same way.

The protagonist, after making a major mistake, risks it all to get the emotional interest back and it ends with a kiss, of course, and an overly cliché epilogue.

Rachel can’t exactly see that happening here.

And in a movie like that, Finn would be painted as the antagonist, the bad guy.

But he’s not, Rachel realizes. Because Rachel has always been the only thing standing in front of what she wants.

.

Finn asks her to go to dinner Thursday.

Rachel wants to say, “No,” but can’t once he plays the, “I just miss you, is all,” card.

He takes her to a steak house, of course, and in a movie, Rachel would probably start a fight over it and storm out of the restaurant and into Quinn’s arms—crying about how he never understands her, can’t even remember that she’s vegan.

Instead she watches him dig into steak and answers his questions about her day.

She doesn’t even have the urge to storm out at all, actually, even though her salad is a little dry and the bread is a tad hard.

It’s not as if she doesn’t love Finn or enjoy spending time with him.

He’s not the antagonist, after all.

“Hey, Sam’s over there,” Finn says, a bit of steak sauce dripping down the side of his chin.

Rachel looks to where he has his eyes pointed to see Sam standing by the hostess’s podium. He holds up three of his fingers as the hostess asks a question and the door opens behind him, letting in a blast of cold air, no doubt, as well as Quinn and her mother.

They’re led to their table and Rachel tears her eyes away, leaning over the table to wipe the sauce from Finn’s chin, if only so she won’t be caught staring if Quinn happens to see her.

It’s not a movie.

Their eyes don’t lock from across the room so they can stare at each other in slow motion and, when Finn says that they should maybe go say hi after he’s paid the bill, she says she’d rather not and leads the way to the car.

.

The next day isn’t any different.

Rachel doesn’t ignore Quinn.

Quinn doesn’t ignore Rachel.

They smile at each other in the hall, in classes they share, in glee rehearsal.

There’s nothing different about how they’re acting.

Nothing at all.

Rachel thinks that that might be the problem.

.

“Hey.”

Quinn peeks around her locker to see Rachel standing beside her, clutching her books to her chest.

“Hey there.”

Rachel moves her legs like she’s shifting her weight without actually doing it. “How was your day?”

That’s not actually what she came over to ask, but it’s safer.

“It was alright,” is Quinn’s answer, muffled a bit by the door of her locker, the thump of her books to the metal bottom, and the clamor of their peers rushing out the doors of the school, eager to get home now that they’re free for the day.

“That’s good,” Rachel says.

Quinn nods. “Yeah. How was yours?”

“Fine.” She doesn’t linger on the word long enough for Quinn to question her tone. “Would you…maybe…I was going to see if you…”

Quinn chooses that exact moment to close her locker so that Rachel has her undivided attention, making the words harder to find.

“—if you, maybe, wanted to come over or something this weekend?”

That’s not what she’s asking.

Or maybe it is.

She’s not even sure anymore.

It’s just that, stupid as it is, she misses Quinn. Even if they don’t know each other very well. Even if there’s Finn and morals to think about.

Small talk and glances aren’t enough.

It’s almost like when you lose your breath and you can’t quite get air in right—like something is blocking it, like you’re breathing through a straw.

Quinn stares at her just long enough for Rachel to lose her nerve, and then it’s probably good that she didn’t get her hopes up because Quinn is saying, “Um, well...I, um…It’s maybe not the best idea, is all, Rachel. You know?”

She does know, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt.

Rachel nods. “No, yeah. Of course.”

“But I’ll see you Monday.”

“Yeah. Monday.”

Quinn gives her a tight-lipped smile and a little wave, walking towards the doors and swinging her backpack over her shoulder, one hand buttoning her coat.

Rachel watches her and then turns on her heel, biting her lip and trying very hard not to feel like an idiot.

.

The doorbell rings that night as Rachel is the dishes as her fathers wash them.

“I’ll get it,” Hiram says, dropping the plate in his hands so that it floats slowly into the soapy water filling the sink, thumping when it lands.

Leroy takes over, pulling it back out and rolling his eyes at Rachel, who laughs.

From the front room, they hear Hiram laugh and Leroy makes a face.

“I’m gonna go check on him,” he says, handing Rachel the plate to dry, which she does.

A few moments later, though, she hears him laughing too, so, out of curiosity, she sets the towel down and follows after them.

Only to see them standing in front of a smiling Quinn who still has her hands shoved into the pockets of her coat.

“Quinn?” Rachel asks, taking a few more steps so that she’s standing between her dads.

“Hey, Rachel,” Quinn returns, the smile sliding off her face just a little.

“What are you doing here?”

“The question you should be asking is, ‘Why did it take you so long to come back’,” Leroy cuts in. “We were beginning to think she was a dream we both had.”

Quinn laughs, politely. “No, I’m very real.”

“Okay, well, you girls feel free to do your own thing,” Hiram says. “As much as we may want to, we won’t hog Quinn from you, baby girl.”

Rachel flushes and gives them an admonishing look.

“Don’t be a stranger, Quinn,” Leroy throws in before they both go back to the kitchen.

The sound of running water reaches them after a few minutes and Rachel just looks at Quinn until the sounds of her dads’ quiet conversation jars her.

“Would you want to—?” She gestures at Quinn’s coat, and Quinn nods, slipping it off her shoulders and handing it over to Rachel, who hangs it on the coat rack by the door.

When it’s settled, Rachel leads the way to her bedroom, but keeps the door open when they’re inside.

She watches Quinn settle on her bed, looking a little tense, before she goes over to sit beside her, making sure to keep a reasonable amount of space between their bodies.

They go to speak at the same time.

Rachel with her, “What’s this ab—?” and Quinn with her, “I was going to—”

But they stop short at the sound of the other speaking.

“You go first,” Rachel offers awkwardly and Quinn nods.

“I, um…I wanted to see you…even though it’s probably not a great idea.” The words hurt still, like they did a few hours ago, but it’s not as bad. Maybe because the start of the sentence softened the blow a bit. “I just…I’m not really…This, being here with you after…I’m not sure it’s the right thing, but sitting at home thinking about how I wish I’d said yes earlier didn’t feel right either. If that makes sense.”

It does.

Rachel nods.

“I just…maybe we could just spend time together?” Quinn asks and it sounds so good that Rachel has to stop herself from nodding so eagerly that her head comes unhinged and falls to the carpet. “That is…I’m not going to sleep with you again.”

That’s blunter than Rachel is expecting.

And it sort of almost makes her want to cry.

It’s possible that it’s a mixture of embarrassment and the proximity of the other girl and the fact that this is the closest thing to love she’s felt, ever maybe, which is a horrible relationship because she’s with Finn.

“I just don’t think it’s a good idea, considering…” She trails off, sounding hesitant. “I think that…the last time…just…” She clears her throat quietly. “Is that okay?”

It’s a bit ridiculous—asking if it’s okay that you don’t sleep with someone you’re talking to—but right now it just feels sad.

“I want you to kiss me again,” Rachel says, eyes focused firmly on her hands, folded on her lap.

The bed shifts—Quinn stiffening, probably.

Understandbly so. Not even Rachel knows where this is coming from.

Not really.

“Just…can you kiss me? We don’t have to—” She looks up and Quinn is staring at her intently, waiting for her to finish. “—I wasn’t trying to say that we should…If that—Please.”

Quinn nods, an almost imperceptible motion in the dim lighting from the lamp on the nightstand behind them, but her answer comes when her mouth meets Rachel’s.

It’s slow, soft. Delicate.

A change of pace from the last two times that they’ve kissed.

Rachel likes it better like this—less rough.

The way Quinn holds it for a little longer than normal, just keeping her lips pressed there as if they’re stuck or like she wants them to stick.

Quinn kisses Rachel’s mouth, cheeks, jaw, neck. Considerately. Disciplined.

And then she stops and her hand just lingers on Rachel’s left hip, keeping their bodies close and she says something about it all being “such a bad idea.”

Rachel nods to this, looking up and locking eyes with Quinn, their mouths only inches apart still.

She completely agrees.

It is a bad idea.

But knowing and embracing are two separate things.

...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always, things belong to who they belong to and my mistakes are sorely regretted.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> takes place during "Extraordinary Merry Christmas" in season three.

...

_December 12th, 2011._

_.._

Clearly remembering last year’s decoration fiasco, Mr. Schuester goes a little overboard with the decorations he gives them for the choir room.

They enter the choir room to see four big crates and a tree in the corner.

“Think you can work with those?” Mr. Schuester asks as Kurt, Blaine, and Tina begin rifling through a couple of them.

He’s trying to be charming.

“I think we’ll find a way,” Kurt says absently, eyes wide as he pulls out strand after strand of tinsel.

Rachel’s not even really sure why they do this—why they bother.

There’s only about a week left of school and, after they get back from their break in January, they’ll have to take it all down.

She sits on a chair on the risers, legs and arms crossed and bobbing her food to the beat of _Jingle Bell Rock_.

Mike had plugged his phone into a set of speakers so that they could listen to the music and Moday rehearsals are after school, so they can be as loud as they want for now.

“Rach, you gonna join us?” Finn asks. He has a Santa hat on and he looks a bit silly with that tree ribbon wrapped around his neck like a scarf.

Rachel looks past him, to where Sam is holding an ornament up so that Quinn can’t reach it, laughing at her effort.

She shakes her head.

Finn looks dejected. “Why not?”

“I just don’t see the point,” she tells him, shrugging. “Putting so much effort into the decorations when it won’t last long enough to be worthwhile in the long run. We’ll have to tear it all down in just a few weeks.”

He frowns. “Yeah, but it’s still fun. Christmas spirit and stuff.”

“I’m Jewish.”

It’s true, in that she is. But her dad—Leroy—isn’t and they’ve always celebrated Christmas, too.

But Finn still makes a face at this reminder—like he’s forgotten—but he finally says, “Okay,” and kisses her cheek before joining Puck in untangling the lights.

Quinn, having finally gotten the ornament from Sam, sticks her tongue out at him and playfully bumps his shoulder on her way to the tree.

Rachel watches her from her seat until Quinn looks up, meeting her gaze.

Her eyes dart away quickly and fall to her lap just as _Blue Christmas_ comes on.

.

The week is spent like much of the last week was.

Walking to class with Finn, sitting beside him in glee rehearsal and at lunch, smiling at Quinn in the hallway and nothing more.

It’s fine, really. Rachel hadn’t expected anything to change after last Friday.

The only difference this week is that Sam starts sitting beside her in their shared Economics class, asking about her day and seeming genuinely interested in her answers.

It’s nice having someone else to talk to and Rachel remembers how much she’s always liked Sam—how different it was when he wasn’t there at the beginning of the year.

And then he asks how things are going with Finn.

It’s not that Rachel is angry he asks—after everything with Quinn and Finn last year, she’s not even surprised.

She understands that he probably feels personally jaded by Quinn and her actions because he knows what it’s like to be on the receiving end—just like Finn is right now.

But Rachel isn’t sure what to say to that.

Because, put simply, things with Finn are as they always are, how they’ve always been.

She doesn’t know how to answer, so she just doesn’t.

.

Her birthday falls on that Sunday and her fathers wake her up early wearing Santa hats and clapping happily.

When she’s awake and aware enough to understand their birthday wishes, they scramble out of the room to bring in a tray stacked high with her favorite foods and set it on her lap.

Maybe it’s because she’s their only child or just because her dads simply love any excuse they have to celebrate something, but Rachel’s birthday has always been a big deal.

It’s usually followed or preceded by a big event, like a trip to New York to see something on Broadway, or that time they’d flown her to Disney World and let her skip school for half a week. The day itself, is more laid back, which Rachel likes much better.

And she’s glad she told her dads not to outdo themselves this year.

Because, honestly, nothing beats wearing pajamas and eating vegan ice cream in front of copious amounts of reality TV all day.

Which is what she’s doing when the doorbell rings late that afternoon, legs crossed on the couch and a big, purple blanket draped over her shoulders.

Hiram calls, “I’ll get it,” which is followed by the sound of the door and, almost immediately after, “Well, well, well.”

Rachel frowns at the sound of this and tries to crane her neck in a way that will allow her to see into the foyer.

After several seconds of clumsy trying, Rachel resigns herself to just waiting, which is fine because Hiram comes in just a moment later, Sam and Quinn trailing after him.

“Darling, you have visitors,” he says, pressing a kiss to her head and crossing through the living room to get to the kitchen, where Leroy is still making dinner.

Rachel jumps to her feet in surprise, the blanket sliding down her shoulders and into a pile on the floor.

It’s only when she sees both Quinn and Sam’s eyes dart to her pajama pants—covered in tiny cartoon squirrels—that she realizes she is not dressed for company.

“What are you doing here?” she asks, leaning down to grab the blanket in an attempt to hide her pants.

Sam snickers behind his hand and Quinn elbows him in the ribs.

“Hey,” he mumbles, shooting her a look and she makes a face at him that makes his eyes widen. “Oh, right.”

He holds out a gift bag.

“I wanted to give you that and Sam, here, insisted on coming with me,” Quinn says.

Sam shrugs.

Rachel takes the bag and sets it on the coffee table so that she can rifle through it.

Inside is a captain’s hat and a miniature Captain America shield.

She looks between the gifts and her visitors in confusion.

“I thought…” Quinn looks nervous all of a sudden, cracking her knuckles and struggling to maintain eye contact. “The hat might be…you know, useful when we win Nationals. S-So that everyone will know who our team captain is.”

Rachel presses the hat between her fingers to keep from tearing up at the gesture.

“And, um, the shield is…just in case Santana throws stuff at you when you’re being brutally honest so we’ll be good enough to win Nationals.”

“That was my idea,” Sam cuts in, grinning.

Rachel laughs and sets both gifts in the bag, pulling Sam into a slightly awkward hug. “Thank you so much,” she says.

He hugs her back, right hand patting the fabric of her _Into the Woods_ crewneck. “You’re welcome.”

She releases him and goes to hug Quinn, but stops herself short.

It’s not that she doesn’t want to touch her, but that she’s worried about having to make herself stop once she does.

Quinn seems to be having the same issue, bottom lip trapped between her teeth.

Rachel smiles at her and says, “You’re both welcome to stay. I was, um, watching…” She gestures to the TV where an episode of _Hoarders_ is still playing. “But we could watch something better…a movie, or something.”

Sam looks thrilled at this idea and Quinn, noticing the manic gleam in his eye, cuts in. “You should pick, birthday girl.”

Rachel watches Sam visibly deflate and shakes her head. “What would you like to watch, Sam?” she asks and he’s grinning again while Quinn just rolls her eyes.

After directing Sam to the movie closet towards the corner of the living room, Rachel sits down on the couch beside Quinn.

They sit there in relative silence, apart from the sound of Sam rummaging through DVD cases.

Rachel plays with a fray on her pants and Quinn taps her fingers against her knee.

“How…um…how’s your birthday been? So far?” Quinn asks after a moment, making Rachel jump a bit as the silence is broken.

“It was alright.”

Quinn smiles a little. “Just alright?”

“It was relatively uneventful,” Rachel explains. She hesitates before saying, “It’s better now, though.”

She shouldn’t have said it. She knows that.

But it’s just the truth and Quinn had her arms around her just a week ago, her fingers splayed on the skin of Rachel’s hip and now they’re sitting on a couch with an entire cushion between them.

Fortunately, Quinn just smiles. It takes a moment, almost like Quinn is fighting the urge, but then she smiles and says, “Good.”

Sam exits the closet then, holding _The Princess Bride_ in his hand triumphantly.

“Seriously?” Quinn asks, when she sees the case he’s holding. “I’ve known you for only, like, a year and I’ve seen that with you about five times.”

Sam flops down on the sofa and says, “That’s because it’s a masterpiece.”

“I’m afraid he’s got you there, Quinn,” Hiram chimes, him and Leroy coming in to stand by the couch and look at the three of them.

Quinn looks at Rachel, like she needs backup of some sort, but Rachel just shrugs. “You can put it in, Sam.”

The look she gets from Quinn is one she hasn’t seen in a few years, but it’s different now—lighthearted and good-natured.

Quinn grumbles and crosses her arms over her chest, only unwrapping them when Hiram and Leroy leave to make them popcorn and hand her a bowl of it.

They leave then—towards the dining room to eat their own dinner, no doubt—and flick off the lights on their way out, telling the teens to “be good”, as if the three of them are the type to need the reminder.

Well, if Sam wasn’t here, Rachel thinks, the reminder might be necessary.

“Do you want some?” Quinn whispers and Rachel has no idea what she’s talking about until she sees the bowl Quinn is thrusting towards her.

Rachel’s phone vibrates then and she sighs when she sees three messages from Finn light up on her screen—all of which are asking if he can come over.

She reads them and the bright light from her screen makes Sam look over at her incredulously from where he’s draped across the loveseat.

Quinn is still staring at her, waiting for an answer, the hand still holding the popcorn bowl slumped a little.

Rachel quickly texts Finn back, telling him that she’ll let him know when she’s free so that he can stop by and shuts off her phone, tossing it on the couch so that she can scoot closer to Quinn.

“Yeah, thanks,” she says, taking a handful from the bowl.

Quinn smiles at her warily, and, briefly, Rachel wonders how cliché it would be of her to use the popcorn bowl as an excuse to hold Quinn’s hand, but, ultimately, decides against it.

.

Around the time that Buttercup follows Westley down the hill, Rachel feels something bump her left hand.

When she looks, it’s Quinn’s hand and, as she watches, the other girl grabs Rachel’s hand and laces their fingers together.

Right there between their bodies.

Rachel looks up at Quinn, but Quinn is staring at the screen intently, as if it’s the most interesting thing she’s ever seen.

So she looks over at Sam, but he’s got a similar expression on his face and their hands are hidden from view by her legs.

The movie keeps going and Quinn does not look at her.

But they’re hands stay connected.

Rachel’s heart is pounding—she can tell from the way it’s making her feel a little sick.

Her palm is a little clammy and panic shoots through her at the thought of Quinn feeling how sweaty it’s getting.

But Quinn just squeezes her hand—three times in a row—gently.

She doesn’t look at her, doesn’t say anything at all to acknowledge that it’s even happening.

And Rachel’s almost glad for it, because it makes it easier to pretend that it’s not wrong of them.

.

When the credits start rolling, Quinn releases her hand, and the air hits the moist skin of Rachel’s palm and fingers for the first time in over an hour.

Sam stretches, groaning loudly, and saying, “Told you it was amazing.”

“I’ve seen it before,” Quinn reminds him.

“Still. I bet you cried. You cried, didn’t you?”

Quinn rolls her eyes. “I did not cry, Sam.”

“Prove it.”

Shaking her head, Quinn looks over at Rachel and says, “Well, we should probably get out of your hair. It’s kinda late. And school.”

Were Sam not here, Rachel wonders if this conversation would be any different.

Quinn is always the one to leave first and she can’t help but wonder why that is.

“Okay,” Rachel says.

She walks them to the door and Sam surprises her with a hug and a quiet, “Happy birthday,” when he pulls away.

Quinn stands in front of her once Sam has stepped aside, like she wants nothing more than to draw Rachel into her arms, but she doesn’t.

Instead she says, “Goodnight, Rachel.”

Rachel says, “Goodnight,” and stands in the doorway, against the chilly December breeze to watch them get into Quinn’s car and drive away.

.

“Those from your dads?” Finn asks twenty minutes later when he stops by, nodding at Quinn and Sam’s gifts on the coffee table.

Rachel contemplates telling the truth, but just changes the subject. “How was your day?”

Finn shrugs. “Alright. How was yours? Get anything good?”

The conversation lasts all of ten minutes, just long enough for him to slip her a box with a pair of earrings in it and tell her that he loves her on his way out.

He kisses her in the doorway after telling her that he likes her pants, and waves on his way down the driveway.

Rachel doesn’t wait for his tail lights to disappear.

By the time he’s down the street, she’s in her bed trying not to cry.

.

Monday is uneventful.

Long, boring.

More of the same.

But on Tuesday, Mr. Schuester tells them about the offer for them to do the annual Christmas special, and Rachel is excited, despite being slightly offended that they’ve ranked lower than footage of a log in a fireplace every other year.

Artie is put in charge because of the play and she’s even more offended then.

It could be because he hadn’t done anything particularly original or spectacular as far as blocking, choreography, or sets, or maybe it’s her “big head”—as others have called it—but he was not the reason the show was a success.

As far as she can recall, at least.

But still, Artie is pompous when he accepts and comes up with the idea to screen potential songs for the special rather than simply letting them choose what they want to perform.

Rachel, still bitter, rants about it at lunch and Sam says, “Yeah, but you probably have like a million songs ready to sing whenever the mood strikes. So if he doesn’t like one, try another. I mean, he can’t hate them all right?”

He has a good point; Rachel doesn’t argue.

“You don’t actually have a million songs ready to sing whenever, right?” Quinn asks as they walk to AP Lit after lunch.

Rachel laughs. “Not exactly a million, but close to.”

Quinn rolls her eyes and shakes her head, but she’s smiling.

.

Against her better judgment, she turns down all of Finn’s offers to help her find a song and finds herself in the Fabray’s driveway that night.

Maybe it’s because Finn would just get bored and want to fool around halfway through, or because, if her dads heard her testing out a piece, they’d rush in immediately and insist on hearing them all.

They’d probably tell her that she sang each of them perfectly which, although flattering and probably true, is not the constructive counsel on which one can better make a decision.

And Quinn has always been clear-cut and firm in her answers and recommendations. Not necessarily about songs, per se, but about life advice, definitely. Every time.

Sam greets her at the door with a grin and a, “Quinn’s in her room.”

She smiles at him in thanks when he takes her coat to hang it up, and slips off her shoes by the door before padding up the stairs.

Three knocks and a, “Come in,” later, and she’s standing in Quinn’s bedroom, feeling both out of place and comfortable at once.

Quinn is sitting in the armchair on the opposite side of the room, feet tucked underneath her as she looks at her open laptop.

When she realizes it’s Rachel, though, she’s quick to close it and get to her feet, setting it down where she’d previously been sitting.

“Hey,” she greets, looking and sounding anxious. “What’s up?”

Rachel holds up a stack of sheet music that is nearly bigger than her head. “I need to pick out a song for Artie and I was…that is, I was hoping maybe you’d consider…helping?”

Quinn hesitates, but then she’s smiling brightly and Rachel’s legs weaken a little. “Of course.”

She gestures to the bed, and begins pushing a few articles of clothing to the floor so they can sit comfortably.

Rachel laughs, looking around at all of the clothes and books strewn all over the place. “You’re a slob, you know.”

“So I’ve been told,” Quinn returns.

.

It takes them a little over an hour to get through half of the songs Rachel is considering.

Rachel sits with her back against Quinn’s headboard while Quinn lies with her head in Rachel’s lap—a position that had made Rachel jump and Quinn say, “Is this okay?” only to get an eager nod in response, when it was first adopted half an hour ago.

It’s nice, Rachel thinks, because Quinn insists that she sing a few measures of every song they go through and closes her eyes intently, tapping her fingers on her stomach while she listens.

She wants to weave her fingers into the blonde tresses of Quinn’s hair, but has images of a frightend, stray dog bolting at the first sign of offered affection and manages to keep herself from doing it.

It’s when she’s halfway through _River_ that Sam comes in, saying, “What’s that racket?” in a deep, put-on voice.

Rachel rolls her eyes at him and Quinn throws a pillow that hits him square in the chest.

He smirks and sits down at the end of the bed. “Kidding. That sounded really good.”

Quinn nods and Rachel smiles because Quinn’s head slides against her dress when she does it. “Yeah, you sounded great, Rach,” Quinn tells her.

“Thank you.” It quiets down—one of those silences that seems loud with the possibilities of what everyone else in the room could be thinking. “I guess I’ll sing that one then,” she decides, setting the sheet music down on the bed.

Sam excuses himself after a bit, joking that he has better things to do than sit around with them all day.

Rachel watches him go and wonders if this should be the part when she leaves.

But Quinn’s eyes are closed and her head feels soft and heavy on Rachel’s thighs, so she stays where she is.

.

Rachel has never considered herself to be a particularly violent person, but when Artie tells her that he hates her song the next day, she has a very vivid image flash in her head of the way his head would smack the back of his wheelchair if her fist should collide with his face.

Sam sticks up for her, but his speech is full of double meanings, so Rachel thinks that it’s probably more than what it seems.

She still appreciates the gesture.

“What’s wrong with a story that’s a little sad or a song that’s a little depressing? I mean, that’s part of Christmas, too, right?”

And he’s even looking at her when he says, “It’s the sad things that make you remember what’s really important.”

He storms off after Artie replies with a sentence that doesn’t really mean anything.

When Rory doesn’t follow him, Rachel wants to, but can’t quite get herself to that point.

Quinn can, though, apparently, because she slips out of her row with a quiet, “Excuse me,” and disappears through the rear exit doors.

Rachel watches her go and only sticks around for another minute of Artie’s bullshit before she storms out too.

.

Finn apologizes on Artie’s behalf a little later, but Rachel shrugs it off.

He tries to cheer her up with his Christmas present he got for her and it’s something called an African sow pig that, apparently, will be fattened up and fed to a starving family.

Or something to that effect.

Rachel doesn’t look at him, focusing instead on getting her coat on as slowly as possible, and reminds him, quietly, that she’s vegan.

She feels a little bad because it’s sweet, in a way—a good cause or something—but Finn doesn’t seem hurt.

He just says, “Oh, yeah,” and offers to give it to his mother instead.

Rachel leads the way out of the school and tells him that she thinks that might be best.

.

Blaine calls her that night because Kurt suggested that maybe they should try to duet.

Rachel is unsure as to why Kurt didn’t just want to sing with her, but she agrees and gets off the phone quickly, almost like she’s waiting for someone to call her or text her.

But she’s not.

And no one does.

Not that she’d been expecting it to go any differently than that.

.

She’s relieved when Artie loves the song she sings with Blaine, even if Finn looks a little disappointed.

But then Sue is there and Artie tells her that they won’t be performing for the homeless shelter that Friday.

Rachel isn’t exactly sure why, but the look of disappointment on Sue’s face before she leaves almost makes her sick.

.

Quinn is upset after rehearsal and leaves the moment they’re dismissed.

Rachel goes after her, because she’d been fine earlier.

She ignores Finn’s, “Where you going, babe?” and practically sprints down the hall.

“What’s wrong?” she asks, when she catches Quinn at her locker.

Quinn doesn’t answer, so Rachel continues. “This is about Sue, isn’t it?”

Quinn sighs and grabs her backpack out of her locker. “Yeah, it is,” she says. “I don’t think I’ll be doing the special anymore, that’s all,” she says.

She slams her locker shut and heads towards the front of the school.

Rachel follows her, having to walk twice as fast in order to keep up. “Why not?” she asks.

She tries to imagine what it would be like—filming that special and singing and pretending to be happy, all the while knowing that neither Quinn nor Sam are there, that they’re disappointed in the rest of them, maybe, for actually going through with it rather than doing the right thing.

And Rachel knows that it _is_ the right thing—she knows “why not”.

She’s actually not sure why she’s asking at all.

“If forfeiting our minute of fame means I can actually do something worthwhile, then it’s not even a contest, Rachel.”

There it is.

Rachel stops walking.

Quinn does too, when she realizes that Rachel is no longer following closely. “What?”

“You’re right,” Rachel says. “Can I come over later, maybe?”

She asks it because Quinn is already halfway out of the school and the sun is hitting her hair in a way that almost hurts Rachel’s eyes—she can’t think of anything as she watches the light fall on Quinn’s skin.

Quinn nods in response and the halls are almost empty and Rachel isn’t very good at fighting herself.

So she raises herself on her tiptoes, presses a light kiss to the other girl’s cheek, and turns on her heel to start back towards the choir room.

.

“But you wanted this,” Finn reminds her, looking angrier than Artie when she tells him.

“I know. I _did_. Past tense,” she says.

The rest of the club is already gone, with the exception of Artie, whose eyes are darting between Finn and Rachel, looking exceedingly awkward.

“I’ll find someone to take over your part, Rachel,” he tells her finally before leaving.

When he’s gone, Finn says, “Why are you backing out?”

There’s a lot of things that Rachel wants to say, but can’t get out. There are a lot of things that Finn should know—things that he deserves to know.

But she’s not strong enough to break his heart right now.

“I just think it was rude of Artie to give Coach Sylvester his word and then back out at the last minute,” she explains, and it’s not necessarily a lie. “I’m not asking you to join me or-or even support my decision. You’ll be wonderful, and, when I watch the special on my DVR tomorrow night, I fully expect to see your face.”

He doesn’t look entirely convinced, but he gives her his lopsided smile anyway. “Okay.”

He offers to come over when he walks her to her car, but she’s quick to shake her head, saying that she should probably inform Sam that she’ll be joining him.

She almost says, “Sam and Quinn,” but her throat catches on the words.

He says, “Alright,” and kisses her goodbye and she watches him drive away and he’s a good guy sometimes, honestly.

He’s not perfect, but she isn’t exactly in a position to be judgmental.

.

Quinn doesn’t look surprised to see her at her door fifteen minutes later.

In fact, she leads Rachel directly to the kitchen without a word, where she and a flour-covered Sam are, apparently, making cookies for the next night.

Sam is still irritable—taking out his frustrations on the dough with a rolling pin—but he brightens when Rachel tells him that she’ll be joining them at the shelter instead of partaking in the Christmas special.

He hugs her, laughing and saying, “Sorry,” when a bit of flour gets on her dress.

“I’m a mess,” Sam says, gesturing at himself. “I’m gonna, um, go get some of this out of my hair.”

He shakes his head like a dog, forming a thin, white cloud around his hair that makes Rachel laugh.

“Get out of here,” she jokes, whacking him on the arm as he leaves, patting down his clothes and scrunching up his face.

When he’s gone, Rachel moves a little closer to where Quinn is standing by the island, using cookie cutters on the dough she’s flattened.

“Are you mad at me?” Rachel asks after a few minutes of silence.

Quinn drops the angel-shaped cutter and braces her hands on the counter. “Why are you really doing this?” she asks. “Is it because you want to or is it because of me?”

That’s a good question, actually, and Rachel hesitates to answer.

Finally, she says, “When have I ever done something solely because you did it first, Quinn Fabray?”

Quinn looks at her, still frowning, and it’s only a bit nerve-wracking as Rachel waits for her to say something.

Which she does, in the form of an, “If you’re sure,” that sounds wary.

The angle is awkward and this isn’t something she should be doing, but Quinn doesn’t pull away when Rachel kisses her.

She kisses her back and Rachel is such an astonishing mixture of susprised and unsurprised that she has to press backwards into the counter just to stay upright.

.

“We’re proud of you,” Leroy says when she tells them about her decision that night. He reaches across the dinner table to grab her hand.

Hiram nods. “You have a good head on your shoulders, honey. Even if it’s a little big sometimes.”

It’s the first time in months, or years, maybe, that Rachel knows she’s made the right choice.

.

There are more people at the shelter the next night than Rachel was expecting.

She’s put in charge of the mashed potatoes and stands between Sam and Quinn as people go through the line.

The Christmas cookies they made are a big hit.

Between the scoops she places on trays, Quinn glances over at her.

Maybe it’s not a glance.

A glance sounds too accidental.

But Rachel’s cheeks burn from the smile that immediately appears when she meets Quinn’s eyes. Quinn winks and turns back to the task at hand, leaving Rachel to do the same.

This is the most bold they’ve been between their fleeting moments—“mistakes” maybe?

Usually, things move swiftly back into the safe and tentatively guarded friendship zone, which is harder than it sounds when Rachel now knows what it feels like to be pressed into the edge of a counter, with Quinn’s hips locked into her own—back aching from the wood digging into it, but not even acknowledging it.

It’s getting harder to do.

But maybe Quinn is being more bold because there’s no chance of Finn showing up tonight.

He’s otherwise occupied on the other side of town and they’re alone. Well, as alone as they can be with Sue, Sam, and eighty-some other people there.

“What are you smiling about?” Sam asks, breaking her from her thoughts.

“I’m just happy to be here, is all.”

Not exactly a lie, but definitely a loaded answer.

She is happy to be here for the original reason she decided to come—the people here say, “Thank you,” with genuine smiles and Rachel almost wants to wish on stars or eyelashes or anything that might work for them all to have the best Christmas they possibly can.

“I’m glad you’re here too,” Sam tells her.

On her other side, Quinn says, “Are you sure you don’t regret it?”

Rachel bumps her with her shoulder. “Of course I’m sure.”

Quinn smiles at her and then the spell is broken when Sue comes over to critique Sam’s serving portions.

She’s smiling, though, and it looks genuine.

She’s probably just glad that she’s not alone—that she’s not the only one who cares.

Not five minutes later, the rest of the glee club—plus Mr. Schuester and Ms. Pillsbury—come in with a large turkey and a Christmas tree.

Rachel’s stomach drops, even while she’s happy they actually came at all.

Finn grins at her cheekily from the back while Artie explains that the Yule log people had cut the special short after solving their differences.

They’d decided to come help after all.

It’s thoughtful, Rachel thinks, if a little late.

But Sue seems happy and forgives them, so Rachel has to as well.

They’re a glee club, though, and it’s entirely unoriginal, but they end up singing.

Rachel stands by Quinn, subconsciously steering clear of Finn on the other side of the group.

They look at each other a few times during the song and it’s hard to keep from touching her.

Rachel wonders if that’s why Quinn has her arms crossed so tightly.

.

Quinn ends up giving her a ride home afterwards and walks her up to the door.

They stand on the porch for a little longer than necessary, shivering against the wind, before Rachel asks if she’d like to come in for a few minutes.

“Yes, please,” Quinn manages to say through chattering teeth and Rachel laughs as she unlocks the door.

Her dads are in bed and the only light is the lamp in the living room that they must have left on for her.

“Would you maybe want to…” Rachel begins, swallowing around the lump in her throat. “Watch the special, or-or something? My dads said that they’d…record it.”

There’s still a level of nervousness between them that Rachel hopes will dissipate at some point, but she won’t hold her breath—which is saying something, really, considering her impeccable lung capacity.

“Sure,” Quinn says and they make sure there’s some distance between them on the couch.

They’re barely into Kurt and Blaine’s duet when Quinn clears her throat, forcing Rachel to look over at her.

“Hey, I, uh…I know you didn’t do it for me, but I really appreciate you coming to help tonight,” she tells her.

Rachel smiles. “It’s really not a big deal. It shouldn’t have taken both you and Sam walking out for me to do the right thing, actually.”

“Yeah, but still. I know you wanted that—” She nods to the TV where Blaine and Kurt are welcoming Mercedes and Tina into their “home”. “—so it was big of you.” Rachel shakes her head and makes a face, opening her mouth to counter that, but Quinn cuts her off. “I know it’s not Christmas yet, but I got you something.”

She reaches into her bag and pulls out a tiny, wrapped package.

“Here,” she says, handing it to Rachel, who just stares at it for a few moments. “Go head and open it.”

Rachel obeys and slowly unwraps it to find a ring box, so she opens that too.

Inside is a silver ring, on which the sun and moon are intertwined.

“I thought asking what your ring size was—from anyone—would be suspicious, so I had to guess. Hopefully it fits.”

Rachel doesn’t say anything, just continues to stare at it, so Quinn goes on.

“I know stars are your thing and all, but I’ve always thought you were…I don’t know, _brighter_ than that. Hence the sun.” She pauses and clears her throat nervously. “I mean…it’s a star, too, yeah, but…it’s closer…so it’s brighter.”

Rachel finally looks up, but she still doesn’t say anything and someone is singing faintly on the TV.

“The moon might be a little confusing, but that’s supposed to be me,” Quinn explains. “Because I like to think that I’m supportive of you and your dreams—that I, I don’t know, shine that light back to you or something.” She pauses and stares at Rachel nervously. “And I’m just now realizing that this was really stupid and cheesy.”

She blushes and clears her throat again, twisting her fingers together on her lap.

“I can, um…I can take that back, if you reall—”

“It’s amazing,” Rachel says suddenly, cutting her off.

Quinn is silent for a moment. “You don’t hate it?”

“I love it.”

A tear she’s been trying to contain slips down her cheek and she wipes it away hastily with the back of her hand.

“Oh, please don’t cry.” Quinn scoots closer and Rachel feels her arm move to rest on the back of the couch behind her.

“It’s too much, Quinn,” Rachel whispers, taking the ring out and slipping it onto her finger.

Quinn’s hand tentatively lands on Rachel’s arm. “It isn’t,” she says. “You deserve the world.”

That only makes another tear fall.

“I didn’t get you anything,” Rachel admits, sounding guilty.

Quinn shrugs. “You can be my present this year.”

Rachel isn’t sure what it is, exactly—the melody, perhaps, of a handful of moments: Quinn’s anxious smile, her fingers splayed out against Rachel’s arms, the careful triplet of squeezes Quinn gives her there, the shifting, shadowy light from the TV.

Or maybe it’s something else—the cool metal ring on her finger or the way Quinn’s bangs are falling into her face a little.

Rachel kisses her for the second time in two days.

At some point—after Quinn’s breathy sigh is released into Rachel’s mouth, after Rachel’s palm is carefully pressed into the side of Quinn’s face—they fall asleep on the couch.

When they wake up to the smell of breakfast being cooked—Hiram’s gentle hand shaking his daughter and saying, “Good morning, girls,”—Rachel sits up with Quinn’s arms still around her waist, Quinn’s sleepy, hazel eyes peering up at her, and everything looks a little different.

.

Two days after Christmas, Rachel stands in front of the Hudson-Hummel house and rings the doorbell.

Finn answers, looking excited when he sees her on the steps.

“Hey!” he greets, smiling.

He invites her in, but she declines, so he steps out to stand in front of her, closing the door behind himself.

“Is everything okay?” he asks, crossing his arms against the December chill.

There’s a pause, a hesitation, one second where Rachel wonders if she’s about to do the right thing.

But she’s wearing the ring Quinn gave her and she can feel it growing cold from the low temperature, there on her finger, even if she doesn’t look at it.

So she says, “Finn, we need to talk.”

He frowns and she knows from the look on his face that he knows exactly what’s coming.

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just. so many references. too many, perhaps, to mention. but none of the things referenced belong to me.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Takes place during "Yes/No" in season three.

.

_December 31, 2011_

.

“Quinn, stop it. She’s going to wake up.”

“No, she won’t. She never does.”

“That does not mean that she is incapable of it. And, might I add, you are not exactly being careful. Or quiet.”

“Says you.”

“Fine. But, when you get caught, don’t say I didn’t tell you so.”

Quinn pauses with her hand in the air, mid-toss, and looks at Rachel with an eyebrow raised. “It’s tradition,” she says.

Rachel rolls her eyes. “Go ahead.”

With a grin, Quinn finishes the toss and throws the gummy bear. It hits the couch behind Judy, who grumbles a bit in her sleep, but does not wake up.

“Damn,” Quinn sighs, leaning back against the loveseat she’s sharing with Rachel. “So close.”

“Not even.”

“Excuse me.” Quinn turns to her. “Am I detecting sass?”

“You’re the one attempting to throw candy into your sleeping mother’s open mouth and you’re questioning _me_?”

Quinn laughs and eats a handful of gummy bears.

Rachel steals some from the bag and asks, “Where did you even come up with this?”

The news station they have on alternates between shots of the hosts and shots of Times Square, packed, as usual, to the brim with people. Quinn glances at it, then away and back at Rachel.

“I didn’t. My sister did,” she says. “My dad always hated New Year’s Eve, so he’d go to bed early. My mom tried to humor my sister and me when we were growing up, so she’d try to stay up with us, but she never made it all the way to midnight. And, I don’t know. I think Frannie did it as a joke at first, but then it just became a competition to see if we could actually do it without her waking up.”

“Interesting,” Rachel says, giving Quinn a smile that is easily returned before the other girl looks back towards the TV.

As usual, Puck is throwing his New Year’s Eve party somewhere across town. Rachel had briefly considered going, if only for the sake of her fellow glee clubbers, but Finn is there, no doubt. She doesn’t exactly want to spend the first few minutes of the new year awkwardly avoiding eye contact.

Quinn, having never been a fan of parties, was planning on spending the holiday alone.

Well, other than her mother.

But Judy has been asleep since about half an hour after Rachel arrived, so it’s possible that she doesn’t count.

With Sam back in Kentucky with his family until the next day, Quinn had almost seemed to eager at the offered company.

As for Judy, she’d seemed to be more eager than her daughter and had practically been bouncing around the house when Rachel arrived.

“Does she usually wake up in time to see the ball drop?” Rachel asks.

“Usually,” Quinn answers. She glances at the clock. “I’d give her about ten more minutes.”

Rachel nods.

Her phone goes off in the pocket of her sweatpants and, when she looks, she’s met with a text from Kurt, asking when she’ll be arriving at Puck’s.

Sighing, she ignores the text, and slips her phone back into her pocket.

“Everything okay?” Quinn asks.

Rachel briefly contemplates lying, but Quinn is looking at her with concern and she’s never been able to lie to her anyway.

She says, “Actually, I have something to tell you.

Quinn looks worried. She swallows, eyes wide. “Okay.”

She must think that it’s something bad—maybe about her—so Rachel reaches out and places her hand on Quinn’s arm, which seems to calm her a bit.

“I, um…a few days ago…I broke up with Finn.”

There’s no reason for this to be awkward.

But it is.

“Seriously?” Quinn asks, her mouth hanging open for a moment after she’s finished speaking.

Rachel wonders if it would make the tension better or worse were she to attempt to throw in a gummy bear.

Probably worse.

So she nods.

“Why?”

This is a loaded question, because there are a lot of different ways that Rachel can answer it.

In the end, she says, “We’d been heading that way for a while, Quinn. It was for the best.”

Quinn doesn’t say anything.

“We haven’t told anyone,” Rachel goes on. “And I’m not sure when we will. With Regionals coming up, we didn’t want to make it awkward for everyone else. You know how they are. They’ll feel like they have to walk on eggshells around us.” Quinn nods. “But…I wanted you to know.”

Quinn has the look of someone whose head is filled with a million questions that she can’t bring herself to ask outright.

Mostly, Rachel appreciates that she stays quiet, because she’s not sure that she would have answers.

Quinn smiles at her, almost sadly. “As long as you’re happy, Rachel,” she says.

Rachel considers this statement for a moment and wonders if she is, in fact, happy.

It’s possible.

But lately her emotions have been hard to read, if they exist at all.

Instead of answering, she kisses Quinn because Quinn is patient and warm and tastes like gummy bears.

Quinn kisses her back, but there’s no time for things to progress because they’re met with the sound of Judy waking up.

Rachel pulls away just in time for Judy to open her eyes groggily and sit up, wiping her hair from her face.

Quinn’s face is flushed and her hair is a little messy. She pulls away from Rachel, putting a reasonably platonic amount of space between them.

“What time is it?” Judy asks.

“Almost midnight.”

The older woman nods, smacking her lips.

The crowd on the TV is getting louder and there’s only a handful of seconds left of 2011 when she looks at Quinn and smiles.

When the ball drops, when it’s officially 2012, Quinn leans over and kisses her cheek.

Rachel’s not sure, but she thinks Judy gives them a look.

She’s distracted, though, a moment later when she glances around the couch she’s on and pulls a gummy bear off her forehead.

“Quinn, honey, why is there candy everywhere?”

.

“There’s a guest room or I can sleep on the floor or something,” Quinn says an hour later when they’re standing in her bedroom, staring at the bed.

They’ve shared it before, of course, but it’s been a while, so they’re just standing there, staring at the bed.

“I’m not going to make you sleep on the floor in your own house.”

“Just trying to be polite.”

“Well, stop.”

“Fine.”

“We can just share it, you know,” Rachel offers.

Quinn frowns. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

“I’m sure you have more self control than you give yourself credit for, Quinn Fabray,” Rachel tells her. “Besides, wasn’t it you who said, ‘I’m not going to sleep with you again,’?”

“Which is why I’ll sleep on the floor.”

Rachel scoffs. “I hardly think you meant the literal definition of ‘sleep’ at the time.”

“Fine. We can share it. But if you hog the covers, I’m tapping out.”

Rachel laughs and they’re in the bed a minute later—on the same sides they were on the last time—and the room goes dark with a click of the lamp.

Turning on her side, she looks at her companion who is nothing but a dark outline—just sound: her quiet breaths, the rise and fall of her chest, the rustle of sheets as she tries to get comfortable.

“Goodnight, Rachel,” Quinn whispers.

“Goodnight.”

.

When she wakes, no part of her body is touching Quinn’s.

It’s not a movie or romance novel cliché—they didn’t magically find each other halfway through their sleep cycles and tangle their legs and arms together, winding around each other.

Quinn is sleeping on her side as close to the edge of the bed as she can get without falling off.

Rachel watches her, eyes tracing the back of her head and her shoulders, wondering if she can get away with staying like this until Quinn wakes up.

But she can smell food and she doesn’t want the first thing Quinn sees to be her own inquisitive eyes.

She thinks that could constitute as creepy.

So she gets out of the bed, gently, and goes over to the other side, surveying the awkward cling Quinn has on the mattress.

Carefully, she coaxes the other girl onto her back so that she doesn’t fall off the minute Rachel leaves.

Satisfied, she goes downstairs, leaving the bedroom door open behind her.

In the kitchen, Judy is making pancakes and bobbing her head to a song on the radio.

She must not see or hear Rachel enter, though, because when she turns around for something, she nearly jumps out of her skin.

“Oh! I didn’t see you there,” she says, hand over her heart.

Rachel gives her a concerned look. “I am deeply sorry. Typically, I announce myself.”

Judy smiles. “It’s quite alright. I just wasn’t expecting you girls to be up for a little while.”

She turns back to the stove and flips a pancake over.

“Would you like some help, Mrs. Fabray?”

Judy, still smiling, waves her over to stand by the stove. “I would love it,” she tells her. “And, I’ve told you, it’s ‘Judy’. None of this, ‘Mrs.’ business.”

They’re silent for a minute, Rachel dutifully holding the bowl of batter out for Judy to scoop some into the pan, followed by the plate piled high with pancakes.

When there’s no more room for more, Judy turns off the stove and takes the bowl to the sink, rinsing it out and Rachel leans on the counter beside the oven.

She wonders how long it will be until Quinn gets up.

The faucet turns off and Rachel looks up to see Judy watching her shyly.

“Rachel, can I ask you something?” She crosses her arms. “It’s about Quinn.”

A bolt of nervousness spikes through Rachel’s chest and into her stomach, but she nods.

“Is she…” Judy clears her throat and shifts her weight, averting her eyes. “Does Quinn like girls?”

Rachel freezes.

Figuratively, of course.

That’s a great question, and one that Rachel doesn’t know the full answer to.

She knows that Quinn certainly hasn’t had any problems kissing her or…other things.

But that might just be a _her_ thing. Or that’s the way it seemed in that conversation she’d had in the car with Sam.

And it’s not really her place to answer.

Beyond that, she’s pretty sure that Quinn would start packing her bags in anticipation if she knew her mother was asking questions like this.

“Um…” She swallows, trying to gather her thoughts. “She’s…it might be best to ask her directly.”

Judy nods. “I’m just worried that…with what happened with her father…”

Rachel frowns and takes a step forward when she notices the slight shine in the older woman’s eyes.

“She might not react well if I ask her something like that. I’m not sure she believes I would never ask her to leave her home again.”

“It’s worth a shot.”

“You’re right,” Judy says. She wipes under her eye with her forefinger.

“Can I…Can I ask you why you think she might?” Rachel asks.

Judy shrugs. “Little things, mostly.” She laughs dryly and adds, “Mother’s intiuition, maybe.”

Rachel nods and says, “Okay.”

She’s looking at the ground, biting her lip and trying to figure out how she’s supposed to tell Quinn about this when Judy hugs her.

“Thank you for being such a good friend to her,” she says as she releases Rachel.

Rachel isn’t sure what to say to that, but it doesn’t really matter because Quinn comes in a second later, looking like she’s still half asleep.

She squints at them from behind her glasses, then looks at the pile of pancakes on the counter. “Are they chocolate chip?”

.

They spend the day on the couch, alternating between watching TV and sleeping.

Judy, for the most part, leaves them be.

On their third episode of _The Office_ , Quinn grabs Rachel’s hand under the blanket they’re sharing and doesn’t let go until Sam comes in an hour or two later.

“I’m back, ladies!” he calls as he closes the front door behind himself.

Quinn squeezes Rachel’s fingers three times and then lets go.

He joins them on the couch, propping his feet up on the coffee and looking exhausted from the drive.

“Well, don’t you look nerdy?” he jokes, smirking at Quinn’s glasses.

She punches him in the arm. “You didn’t hurt my baby, did you?”

“Your car is fine,” he assures her. “I treated her like a queen, though, I must say, the favor was not returned.”

Quinn looks scandalized and this only leads to a petty argument that then segues into a tickle fight that, eventually, forces Rachel off the couch.

Judy comes in, probably having heard the noise. She catches Rachel’s eye and smiles as Quinn shouts, “Say uncle!” while Sam attempts to fend her off.

Rachel just rolls her eyes and shakes her head.

.

When school starts back up on Tuesday, it’s more awkward than Rachel was expecting.

Kurt corners her after second period, grilling her about why she hadn’t been to see Finn all break.

She’s just happy that he buys the excuse of having to spend time with her dads.

.

Finn, for the most part, is more mature than he has been after their past break ups.

He asks her how her break was in Spanish class and she hesitates to tell him anything.

He tells her that his was okay when she returns the question and then turns around in his seat.

.

For some reason, Mr. Schuester forces them to come up with good proposal songs so that he can ask Ms. Pillsbury to marry him.

As always, Rachel wonders how everyone’s personal lives are able to become so tangled in their rehearsals.

.

“Knock, knock.”

Rachel looks up from where she’s putting her books in her locker after school to see Shelby standing and playfully knocking on the locker beside her daughter’s.

“I, um, have something for you.” Shelby holds out a yellow envelope and Rachel makes a face, frowning briefly.

“What’s this?” she asks.

Shelby shrugs. “I know it’s late, but I didn’t think dropping by on your actual birthday would go too well,” she explains. “Your fathers aren’t my biggest fans.”

Inside the envelope is a birthday card with a turtle on it that says, _Sorry, traffic was slow. Happy Birthday!_

Rachel smiles and opens it, only to have a check slide out. She looks at Shelby in question and Shelby shrugs again.

“I wasn’t sure what to get you. And I figured teens always appreciate money.”

Rachel’s not sure if now would be the best or most opportune time to hug her mother or not. She decides not to and settles for shifting her weight around.

“Thank you,” she says quietly.

Shelby just smiles at her for a moment, but then her expression turns serious. “How are you?” she asks, the question laced with sincerity.

Rachel frowns. “I’m okay.”

“I meant…after…” She’s talking about the stage back in November—when Rachel had burst into tears, back when Quinn wasn’t speaking to her or even looking at her.

Guilt knots in Rachel’s stomach. “Oh, I’m…I’m okay now, thank you.”

Shelby doesn’t look convinced, but she nods. “Well, if you ever…I know that I’m not…I haven’t been the best mother to you but I’m still here when I’m needed as a sub, which isn’t _every_ day, but…”

It wasn’t until now that Rachel understood rambling could be hereditary.

“I, um…” Rachel clears her throat. “I know you are and…But I’m fine, really.”

Shelby frowns, but doesn’t say anything other than, “Okay, well…Happy birthday, Rachel.”

With that, she’s gone—heading down the hallway towards the exit.

Rachel waits until she’s out of sight to shut her locker and leave.

.

On Wednesday, Sam gets slushied.

Rachel is at her locker when it happens and she stops when she sees Mercedes wipe his face a little before leaving with Shane.

She shuts her locker quickly and follows him down the hall to the boys’ restroom.

The bell is about to ring, so it’s empty, which is good because Rachel is sure she would be traumatized were she to enter and be met with the sight of one of her male peers using the urinal.

Sam looks confused when she comes in, squinting at her in the mirror. “What are you doing here?” he asks.

She sets her books down on the sink just as the bell rings and grabs some paper towels, running them under some water. “I came to help you,” she tells him.

“You’re gonna be late to class,” he says as she uses the paper towls to wipe off his face.

She shrugs. “Friends come first. Pre-calc be damned.”

Sam chuckles and she pushes his hair to the side.

“Do you know why they slushied you?”

He nods. “I joined the synchronized swimming team to impress Mercedes,” he explains.

She pauses and tosses the red-stained paper towels into the trash bin. “We have a synchronized swimming team?”

He gives her a look.

“I apologize for my digression.”

He shrugs and turns on the faucet, splashing some water on his face.

“Why are you trying to impress Mercedes? She’s dating Shane.”

He frowns at her.

“Right.” She sighs and resists the urge to hit herself. “Not really in a place to be judgmental.”

“I really like her,” Sam says. He’s braced against the sink, looking down at the faucet and Rachel doesn’t hesitate to touch his shoulder. “I think we would be good together.”

He looks like he’s about to cry and Rachel wonders how she keeps finding herself in the position to have deep conversations with people who live in the Fabray’s house.

Sam hugs her, just like Judy had. Only this hug is damper.

“You’re all wet,” she says with a laugh.

He pulls away and wiggles his eyebrows at her.

She ends up being fifteen minutes late to pre-calculus, but it’s worth it.

.

No one has any ideas for Mr. Schuester that day, and Santana mumbles, “How am I supposed to pick a song that’s perfect for a relationship I know nothing about?” to Rachel when people start filtering out.

Rachel, who is not used to being spoken to so liberally and kindly by the other girl, is taken aback.

Consequently, it takes her a few moments to come up with a proper answer.

“You have a good point,” she returns, glancing at Mr. Schuester who is flipping through a stack of sheet music by the piano.

Mercedes and Tina, who have apparently lingered, edge a little closer.

“Seriously,” Tina says and Mercedes nods.

“Maybe we should just ask for more information,” Rachel suggests.

So when Mr. Schuester heads towards his office, she follows him and the other three are close behind her.

.

“Where’d you disappear to?” Quinn, who is waiting by Rachel’s locker, asks when she arrives about ten minutes later.

“I apologize. I was figuring out what song to sing with Mercedes, Santana, and Tina.”

Quinn raises an eyebrow as Rachel opens her locker to slip some books in and grab her coat.

“What’s that look for?” she asks.

“I don’t see how that can end in a way that doesn’t involve bloodshed and a traumatized Tina, can you?”

Rachel shuts her locker and frowns. “I’ll have you know that the only reason Mercedes, Santana, and I find ourselves at odds with one another so often is because of our similarities.”

Quinn shrugs. “Fine,” she says, starting down the hall. “But when Santana chokes you out, don’t come crying to me.”

Rachel follows her down the hall, wanting to say something about Quinn kissing it better, but she doesn’t.

.

The next day, they perform _The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face_ after rehearsal the next day.

Mr. Schuester seems pleased with it, but Mercedes rushes out when they’re done.

Tina goes after her, followed by Santana, so Rachel feels obligated to go as well.

She enters the bathroom behind them in time to hear, “The first person I thought of wasn’t Shane. It was Sam.”

Mercedes turns as Rachel closes the door behind herself.

“I don’t know, I…” She shakes her head. “I thought it was in the past.”

Rachel thinks about Sam getting slushied to impress this girl who has a boyfriend.

She thinks about Finn, standing on his porch in a t-shirt, shivering either from the words, “I think we should break up,” or the cold.

And Quinn. She thinks about Quinn, their freshman year, sitting two desks over and one desk up in their English class—biting her lip shyly and returning Rachel’s polite smile when she spotted it.

Rachel takes a shaky breath and says, “Yeah, I think you just need to take it slow, okay?” but she’s not certain if she’s talking to Mercedes or herself. “And listen to your heart. Maybe the spark with Sam is still there.”

Mercedes thanks her quietly, with a sniffle as Tina strokes her back and hands her a tissue.

Rachel wonders why it is that she’s so good at giving advice that she never follows herself.

.

Apparently, there’s something going on with Artie and Becky.

But, honestly?

There are so many things going on these days that Rachel can barely bring herself to keep up.

So, when Kurt says something about talking to him about it before school with the others on Friday, Rachel declines.

Instead, she meets Quinn at her locker and gets to class early.

“Would it be okay if I came over tonight?” Quinn asks as they sit down in their first period class.

Rachel smiles and says, “Of course.”

“Thank God.”

“Is everything okay?”

“My mother has been…a little scary lately,” Quinn answers.

“To what degree?” Rachel asks, frowning.

“She just keeps asking me all these questions.”

Rachel swallows nervously, remembering her conversation with Judy the past weekend.

“Just…weird things.”

“Weird things like what?”

“You really want to know?” Quinn asks, getting a firm nod in response. “Okay.” She sighs. “Well, one of them was if I have feeling for you.”

Rachel’s stomach does this weird thing.

“Oh,” she responds. “And what did you say?”

A few of their classmates enter and sit nearby.

Quinn glances at them, then away. “We can talk about this later,” she decides.

Rachel nods and tries to figure out why she cares so much about the answer.

.

Kurt finds her later that day and asks if she’s Finn.

When she replies that she hasn’t, he gives her an exasperated look.

“What’s wrong?” she asks.

So he tells her about Finn’s dad and his war hero status having been a lie.

“Finn is taking it really hard. You should talk to him,” Kurt tells her.

Part of her—the part that has yet to get used to not having to run to Finn’s rescue—wants to find him immediately and make him feel better.

It’s the part that is lingering on the fact that she _does_ still love him, even if she isn’t _in_ love with him.

But that’s not her place anymore and she’s not even certain that Finn would want to talk to her about something like that, so she just lets Kurt walk away without answering him.

.

Rachel is aware of the exact moment Quinn comes to the door.

She’s in her room, trying to get her calculator to cooperate so she can finish her homework, when she hears a chorus of excited greetings and laughs from her dads downstairs.

There’s a muffled conversation between them for a minute or two—the dim rise and fall of their voices—and then a knock on her door not long after it gets quiet.

Rachel’s, “Come in,” is quick.

Quinn enters with a duffle bag that she sets on the floor by Rachel’s dresser. “Howdy,” she greets.

“Are you moving in?” Rachel asks, eyeing the bag suspiciously.

Quinn laughs. “Just for the night. If you’ll have me.”

Something about the way she says it—maybe the mixture of Quinn’s low voice and her wind-blown hair, cold-nipped cheeks and nose—makes Rachel bite her lip.

She nods in answer, not quite trusting her words.

Quinn crosses the room and sits on the other side of Rachel’s bed.

Rachel sits up. “So what were we going to talk about later?”

Quinn looks, almost nervously, and clears her throat. “My mother,” she reminds her.

Rachel nods again, as though she’d been able to forget their earlier conversation.

“She’s just been asking questions like that,” Quinn explains. “If I like girls, if that means I’m…gay.” Her voice is tight around the word. “Stuff…Stuff like that.”

Rachel bobs her head and thinks for a moment. “How does she seem to be handling that sort of topic?”

“Okay, I guess. I don’t know.” Quinn shrugs. “I just don’t really know where it’s coming from, you know?”

“Well, how have you been answering her?”

“Mostly, ‘I don’t know,’ with a hint of, ‘can we please stop talking about this.’”

Rachel lets that sink in for a moment.

“What did you say when she asked if you have feelings for me?”

“You’ve been waiting to ask that all day, haven’t you?” Quinn asks and Rachel blushes, looks away. “Well, if I’m remember it right, at the time, I said, ‘Oh my God, Mom, stop talking.”

Rachel laughs and thinks that if she were a confident person, an independent and unafraid person, she would ask Quinn what the real answer was.

But there are a host of things that are left unsaid between the two of them, knotting and clumping in Rachel’s throat, making it hard to swallow, talk.

They stare at each other and Rachel wishes there was just one word for what it’s like, sitting there on display for someone who’s taking over your life.

Because it’s hard to describe.

Rachel says, “Hey,” after a moment and Quinn blinks, like she wasn’t expecting Rachel to say anything, to break the silence. “You wouldn’t happen to know how to graph a rational function on a calculator, would you?”

.

Like the last time they shared a bed, Rachel wakes up to find Quinn nearly spilling over the side.

She wonders what it is that causes this—if maybe they’re the polar opposite of a romance story and, instead of saying what they want and finding each other, they keep circling the issue and pushing each other away.

.

Her dads pout when Quinn goes home the next day and put up a valiant fight for about ten minutes.

Finally, they let her go with a hug from each of them.

Rachel stands at the door like she always does and Quinn squeezes her hand on her way out, sliding their fingers apart dramatically as she walks away.

Rachel giggles and Quinn waves and then she’s gone.

.

Finn calls Sunday evening, asking if she has time to talk.

“Um, yeah,” she says, getting up from the couch, where her dads are watching the news. “Give me a minute.”

When she’s in her room with the door closed, she says, “Is everything okay?” and sits down on her bed.

Finn takes a breath. “Yeah, just…I was wondering if you maybe wanted to perform a song with me for glee rehearsal tomorrow? For Mr. Schuester’s thing?”

Rachel sits down on the side of the bed that Quinn sleeps on and picks at her comforter. “Wh…” Her throat catches and she makes a somewhat embarrassing sound in an attempt to clear it. “I’m just not sure that’s the best idea.”

Finn sighs from the other end of the call, sounding more resigned than angry. “I thought you might say that,” he tells her. “But…I don’t…I don’t mean anything by it. I just thought…We sound really great together and it wouldn’t have to be anything other than a song.”

If it wasn’t this week, if it wasn’t now—after everything with his dad—she might have said no, but, as it is, she can’t help but agree.

With a few conditions.

“I pick the song,” she says and she can practically hear Finn nodding in agreement. “And we have to meet tomorrow morning before class so we can get it over with.”

And maybe it’s a bit harsh to word it like that, but she does anyway.

“Yeah,” Finn says. “Sounds great. Six-thirty work?”

That gives them around an hour to work on it, but Finn is a fast learner when it comes to music, even if he’s a bit slow in other areas.

“Yeah, sure.”

Finn’s, “See you then,” sounds grateful.

.

Before rehearsal that next day, she’s a bundle of nervous energy, though she’s not really sure why.

Maybe it’s a combination of sitting between Sam and Quinn and knowing that they’ll give her strange looks when she goes up there to sing with Finn, no doubt.

Maybe it’s something else entirely.

She’s not certain.

“Hey,” Quinn says after a moment, placing a hand on Rachel’s knee to stop it from bouncing up and down. “Are you okay?”

Rachel nods. “I’m fine.”

She almost places her hand over Quinn’s, but stops herself short when Finn enters the room, sending a smile her way.

“Are you sure?” Sam asks. “You’ve been jumpy all day.”

“You didn’t have coffee, did you?” Quinn demands, eyebrows raised.

“No, I did not. I’m fine,” Rachel assures them.

They stare at her, clearly hoping for more of an answer, but Mr. Schuester clears his throat at the front just then, calling them to attention.

When he asks if anyone has any more suggestions, Finn is the first to raise his hand.

“Rachel and I do,” he says and Mr. Schuester certainly looks pleased.

Rachel can feel Sam and Quinn’s curious gazes turned her way, but she ignores them as she heads to the front of the room with Finn.

They’re version of _Simple Song_ is definitely less romantic than other songs they’ve performed in the past, though Rachel is certain that everyone thinks that they’re still singing to each other.

Even Quinn, she notices, who is staring at the floor and picking at the hem of her dress when the music fades out.

Santana is giving Rachel and Finn a look of unbridled disgust that Rachel rolls her eyes at, because, honestly, how did Santana miss the way Rachel was the one to sing, “ _Girl, what a gift, will you tell me with your tongue and your breath was in my lungs_ ”.

In her opinion, it’s rather obvious.

“Thank you, guys,” Mr. Schuester tells them, looking more pleased than he has after anyone else’s suggestions. “I’ll consider it.”

Rachel simply nods and avoids looking at Finn who is, likely, giving her one puppy-dog pout or another.

She goes to her seat and avoids Quinn’s eyes for the rest of the rehearsal.

.

No one says a word when Rachel walks with Sam and Quinn to the parking lot.

That is, until Sam has grabbed his duffle bag from the back of Quinn’s car and says, “I’ll see you after swim practice,” to Quinn, throwing a, “Bye, Rachel,” in their direction before jogging back into the school.

And then it’s just Quinn looking at her.

“I know what you’re going to ask,” Rachel says afer a moment of shivering in the wind. “And, while I may have sung _with_ Finn, I was not singing _to_ him.”

Quinn looks less nervous now, but her apprehension has yet to completely disappear.

She looks a bit disbelieving, which Rachel absolutely hates.

Still, there’s nothing she can do or say to change it, so it’s okay when they part ways a few moments later.

.

In the end, Mr. Schuester doesn’t use any of their suggestions.

They all end up singing _Home_ to Emma in the hallway where, apparently, they first met and, unsurprisingly, she says yes when he gets down on one knee.

Sam slings an arm around Rachel’s shoulders and Quinn bumps their feet together as Emma hugs Mr. Schuester.

She’s happy for them, really.

So, when Finn smiles at her over Sam’s head a moment later, she returns it.

Unfortunately, he must take this to be a peace flag because he corners her once they’ve been dismssed with a, “Can I talk to you?”

Rachel glances over at Quinn, who is talking to Santana and Brittany on the other side of the hallway.

“Yeah, just give me a minute, if that’s okay.”

Finn nods. “Yeah. Meet me in the auditorium, alright?”

“Sure.”

She watches him walk away before walking over to Quinn.

“Hey, Rachel!” Brittany greets and Rachel gives her a small smile.

“See you later, Q,” Santana says, nodding at Rachel before walking away with her and Brittany’s fingers tangled together.

Quinn turns to Rachel when they’re far enough away and says, “What’s up?”

“I have to do a few things before I go,” Rachel says. “So I was just gonna say goodbye now.”

Something flashes behind Quinn’s eyes and Rachel almost takes a step backwards, away.

Finally, Quinn just nods. “Yeah, okay. See you later.”

Rachel wants to grab her arm and squeeze, tug her back, but she just ends up watching her leave.

.

Finn is sitting on a stool on the stage when she comes in.

“Hey,” he says when he sees her, getting to his feet.

Rachel smiles politely and sees a picture in his hand. “What’s that?” she asks.

“Oh,” he says. “My dad.” He holds it up for her to see before slipping it in his pocket.

She nods. “Kurt told me about what happened,” she tells him. “Is that why you asked me to meet you here? To talk about your dad?”

He shakes his head and says, “No, no. I, uh, I want to talk about you.”

She’s confused until he adds, “About us,” and then she’s just nervous that he’s going to try and get her back.

“Okay…” She trails off.

“Look, uh. I have something I want to talk about, but I want you to promise me that you won’t say a word until I’m done.”

She frowns and sits down on the stool he’d been sitting in just moments prior. “Okay,” she agrees.

She’ll give him at least that—a chance to make his case before she shoots him down.

He’s earned that. And maybe it’s what he needs, maybe he needs her to listen, to feel like he’s being heard.

Maybe it’ll help him to get over it, over her.

“And I know that’s sort of hard for you,” Finn continues once she’s seated comfortably. “Especially because of…everything that’s happened over the past few weeks. You’re going to want to interrupt. So I need you to promise me.”

That doesn’t make her feel any better, necessarily, but she says, “Okay, I promise,” anyway.

He nods and sighs, trying to gather himself from the look of it. “I just feel like, all my life I’ve been, you know, wondering if I was gonna be as much of a man as my father was. Now, all of a sudden, I’m up at night worried that I’m gonna become the man he was.” He smiles sadly. “Let’s face it, I’ve got, ‘high school hero, life zero’ written all over me.”

She looks down, wringing her hands to keep from interrupting because he’s so much more than that—worth more than that. She’s been trying to tell him that for yers and she wasn’t around when his fears got worse.

“Except for one thing,” he continues and she meets his eyes. “You.”

Her stomach bottoms out, but he trudges on.

“You’re like a beacon of light guiding me through the darkness. You’re like this big, gold star—” Her eyes move to the ring Quinn gave her, at the sun that’s there, her words echoing in her head— _I’ve always thought you were bigger than that_. “—and for some bizarre reason, you’ve chosen to let me love you these past few years.”

He must see the look on her face, because he’s quick to say, “And I know that…that…you ended that, but I can’t help but feel like, if I can just convince you to let me keep doing that—loving you—I’ll be okay. Everything’s going to be okay.”

He pauses then and his hand drifts to his back jeans’ pocket. “Uh, I opened up my first credit card to get this,” he says, fishing something out.

It’s a small velvet ring box and Rachel is certain that all the air has left the room.

“And I know it’s not a bunch of teenagers singing in the place where we first met—it’s not very big, but it’s a promise—a promise to keep loving you for the rest of my life.”

He gets down on one knee then.

“I still love you, Rachel. And after that song we sang this week—how much you got into it—I think you still love me.”

She can’t breathe now and she wonders what Quinn is doing right then—if Quinn is sitting at home, doing homework, watching TV, eating and she wonders if there’s some way to let her know, subliminally, that this is happening.

That Finn is actually proposing.

“All you have to do is say yes.” He opens the box and Rachel’s eyes drift down to the small ring inside. “Rachel Berry, will you marry me?”

Her mind is a chorus of _no, no, no, no._

Her mouth is open, lips trying to form the word.

Instead, she hears herself say, “I’m sleeping with Quinn,” and it’s possible that she’s imagined it.

It isn’t until she sees the smile fall from Finn’s face that she knows she didn’t.

..

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i referenced "The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face" by Roberta Flack, "Simple Song" by The Shins, and "Home" by Phillip Phillips.
> 
> as always, i apologize for any mistakes. my bad.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> takes place during "Michael" in season three.
> 
> angsty mcsuper-angst below.
> 
> all mistakes are mine, sorry about those.
> 
> though, in my defense, my version of Microsoft is pretty obnoxious.

…

_February 26th, 2012_

..

“—if you think that we’re just going to let you waltz back in here after what you did, then you are sorely mistaken!”

Rachel’s head is on Sam’s lap when she stirs and opens her eyes, blinking a few times in the harsh, waiting room light. It isn’t until her eyes have adjusted that she sees the source of the disturbance.

Across the waiting room, Judy is standing between a stocky looking man and a blonde woman Rachel has never seen before. The blonde woman, apparently, is the one doing the yelling.

“After what you put her through! After what you put Mom through! I can’t believe this. You haven’t changed a bit, have you?”

Rachel sits up and attempts to flatten her hair, looking over at Sam who is watching the debacle with wide eyes.

Feeling her gaze, he looks at her and shakes his head once.

He looks entirely terrified.

“Frannie, please,” Judy says, in a soft and reasonable tone. “Let’s just calm down and try to discuss this in a civilized manner.”

The blonde woman—Frannie—turns and Rachel gets a look at her face for the first time.

A shocking bolt of pain pierces her chest—she looks _so much_ like Quinn.

“Mom, are you kidding me? He can’t just show up like this ater months and _months_ of ignoring us. After…” She shakes her head and the volume of her voice dips lower. “After what he did.” She crosses her arms and looks back over at the man, who Rachel realizes, all at once, must be Quinn’s father.

The man who kicked her out of her house.

Anger swells under her skin and she has the sudden urge to cross the room and slap him as hard as her hand will allow.

Sam must see the look on her face, because he covers her hand with his and shakes his head again.

She stays in her seat.

“I am not saying that your anger is not justified.” Judy throws a look at her ex-husband. “I am simply saying that…the waiting room of the hospital…while…my baby is…” Her voice drops away entirely and she staggers a bit.

Frannie says, “Oh, Mom,” and wraps her arms around her, helping her into the nearest chair. She sits down beside her and says things that are too soft for Rachel to hear for a minute or so, then turns back around to her father.

“What are you doing here?” she demands. “Why now?”

The man—Russell, Rachel thinks is the name on his nametag even though he’s a good distance away—clenches his fists and lowers his head.

“They called me…when they picked her up…I…I’ve been here all night,” he tells her. “Who do you think called Dr. Akers and made sure he was here for the thoracotomy?”

Frannie stares at him and the set of Rachel’s jaw loosens, the anger dissipating a bit at the word, “thoracotomy.”

“I know…I…I’ve messed up, I know that, but she…she’s my daughter and…” He doesn’t finish, covering his face with his hand instead. From the tremor of his shoulders, it’s safe to assume that he’s crying.

“Okay. Fine,” Frannie says. “You can stay. But…don’t…” She shakes her head, at a loss for words.

Russell uncovers his face after a moment, wiping his eyes. Briefly, he looks at Rachel and Sam, looking a bit embarrassed.

“I, um…I wanted to come check on your mother….and…Just know that I’m here. I know that probably doesn’t mean much.” Frannie says nothing. “I’ll be in my office until…we’ll be allowed to see her. If you need me…”

He turns and walks out of the waiting room and down the hall.

It gets quiet in the waiting room, then, except for the occasional sniffle from Judy.

Rachel’s eyes drift from the Fabray women to the corner TV, where the news is playing.

“…the three surviving men are currently in fair condition at St. Rita’s Medical Center,” the anchorwoman is saying. “In other news, a two vehicle car crash on West North Street yesterday evening left a young woman in critical condition.”

Rachel’s eyes widen and then dart to Judy who has stiffened at these words.

Frannie gets to her feet and crosses the room just as the woman says, “Police believe—” and shuts off the TV.

She glances over at Rachel and Sam and says, “Is it okay that I turned that off?” with a hint of bitter sarcasm.

They say nothing, so she nods and goes back to her mother.

Santana, who has been asleep this entire time—along with Brittany—shoots up then and looks around, as though she has no idea where she is.

“You okay?” Sam asks.

She shakes her head. “I…I woke up and forgot…that…”

She doesn’t have to finish.

They get it.

Rachel reaches over and grabs her hand.

Santana gives her a sad smile and squeezes Rachel’s hand in return.

Brittany sits up and blinks, still looking like she’s half-asleep. She doesn’t speak and Rachel thinks that she’s never seen her look this serious before.

“When did Frannie get here?” Santana asks.

Sam looks over at the woman in question. “I don’t know. She was here when I woke up.”

Santana nods.

Everyone is quiet for a while until Judy gets up, smoothing down her skirt, and walks over to them.

“I’m heading to the cafeteria for some food,” she says. “Would any of you like to join me or-or…want anything?”

Santana looks at Sam and Rachel before saying, “Brit and I will come.”

Judy nods and, when she looks at Rachel and Sam, they shake their heads—Rachel doing so without making eye contact.

“Okay.”

She manages to give them a smile and grabs her older daughter’s hand briefly, giving it a squeeze as she leads Brittany and Santana out of the waiting room.

Frannie watches them go and stands there for a moment, before sitting in one of the chairs across from Sam and Rachel.

“Good to see you again, Sam,” she says dryly.

He gives her a sad smile. “Something like that.”

“Quinn mentioned you came back this year.”

He nods in response.

She looks at Rachel then, frowning. “Sorry,” she says, shaking her head. “I’m Frannie.” She leans over and offers her hand, which Rachel takes and shakes politely. “That probably wasn’t the best first impression you got of me.”

She smiles a little and Rachel has seen that smile—that little quirk of the lips—from Quinn a thousand times over and it’s almost like being underwater.

She can feel Sam looking at her, waiting for her to speak, but, as she was with her fathers, she’s afraid that she won’t be able to.

Somehow, though, she opens her mouth and manages to say, “It’s okay,” even though her voice is raspy. “I’m Rachel.”

A look crosses Frannie’s face—realization, maybe. “So _you’re_ Rachel.”

Rachel’s heart plummets.

Frannie must see the panic, though, because she smiles again. “Quinn just…she’s talked about you before.”

There are suddenly a dozen questions Rachel wants to ask, but she can’t seem to work around the lump in her throat.

“How are you holding up?” Sam asks, gently and Rachel’s glad for the topic change.

Frannie leans back in her seat and sighs. “Not well. I…I was on the first flight out of Atlanta, but I didn’t pull in until 9. I just…wish that Thomas hadn’t been relocated last year. I could have been here so much sooner.” She glances at the door of the waiting room. “My mom…she’s trying, but…she _needed_ me to be here sooner. So, I’m trying to be the stronger one, but…you know.”

She looks like she may cry and Rachel can’t imagine what it must have been like to be powerless, waiting for a flight, when you know your little sister is fighting for her life so far away.

“Is Thomas going to come?” Sam asks.

Rachel glances at Frannie’s left hand and sees a wedding band, an engagement ring.

Thomas must be her husband.

She nods. “He has a meeting Monday, but he’ll be flying up as soon as it’s done.”

Sam nods.

Rachel wonders, briefly, why Sam knows so much about Quinn’s family, but then remembers that he’d been dating Quinn for nearly five months the year before. He probably met Frannie and her husband more than once during that time.

“What about you? How are you holding up?” Frannie asks.

Rachel looks at him and places a hand on his forearm.

Sam shrugs. “As well as I can.”

Frannie smiles sympathetically.

They’re quiet for a while and the silence is a million times worse because Rachel is fairly certain she can hear a heart monitor in a nearby room and _Quinn_ is somewhere close, somewhere Rachel can’t get to.

She bits her lip and wrings her hands.

“Does, um…” she starts, testing the words out slowly. “Does your…Does Mr. Fabray work here?”

Frannie’s face falls and Rachel almost regrets asking. “You could say that,” she answers. “He’s the CEO of the hospital.”

Rachel’s eyebrows shoot up. “Oh.”

“Yeah.” Frannie crosses her arms over her stomach. “I mean…I knew he’d be here, but I thought he’d know enough not to show his face.”

Rachel nods a few times to show that she understands.

He must have gottena call, too. Someone had to call him and say, “Mr. Fabray, your daughter was in an accident. She’s—”

Rachel leans forward and covers her face with her hands, absolutely positive that she’s going to throw up.

There’s movement around her and Sam places a hand on her back, warm fingers and palm.

Someone else sits beside her.

It’s Frannie and arms wrap around her, which only makes Rachel feel worse because Frannie is trying to be strong and it’s her _sister_ so she should be allowed to grieve. But, instead, she’s comforting the girl who broke her sister’s heart.

Still, she’s soft and she’s warm and she’s there. She looks like Quinn even if she’s not Quinn and she’s saying, “Hey, it’s okay,” and Rachel leans into her and wishes it really was.

..

_January 13 th, 2012_

_.._

“You’re… _what?”_

Finn stares at her with wide eyes and Rachel slowly brings her hand up to cover her mouth.

“No…You’re just kidding, right?” He smiles a little, like he believes she might be. “You’re not actually… _fucking_ Quinn Fabray.”

Rachel winces at how crudely he says it and opens her mouth, trying to gather her words. “I-I…”

“Oh, my God.” He gets to his feet and snaps the lid of the ring box closed. “You are.”

She stands up and reaches for him, trying to calm him, but he jerks away.

“How long?” he demands. “How long have you been fucking her?”

“Would you _stop_?” Rachel cuts in. “Stop saying it like that.”

He stares at her, looking like he’s torn between crying and yelling some more.

“I…I slept with her in November,” she says, finally. “For the first time.”

His face turns a darker shade of red and she’s afraid, for a moment, that he might pass out if he doesn’t breathe soon.

“Is that why you broke up with me?”

She doesn’t have an answer for that, because, yes, it had been one of the determining factors but there were a lot of reasons for it.

Reasons like needing to move on, needing to give herself room to breathe.

Reasons like not being in love with him, but she’s not sure how to say any of that without somehow also conveying that it doesn’t mean she doesn’t care about him, his feelings.

Finn turns away and puts his hands on his hips, trying to catch his breath, she guesses, judging by the way his shoulders are moving.

“How could you lie to me like that?” he asks, when he finally turns around to face her again.

“I’m…I’m sorry, Finn.”

She’s crying now, but he doesn’t seem to care.

“No,” he tells her. “You don’t get to be upset about this, Rachel.” He’s probably trying to sound threatening, but his voice cracks and he looks so hurt that it doesn’t quite work. “You cheated on me. Again. With my ex-girlfriend who _also_ cheated on me. Do you not get how twisted that is?”

She thought she did.

It was what kept her from pressing Quinn into every available surface when the other girl smiled, what made her dizzy with guilt whenever she broke down and kissed her.

What kept her up most nights.

But now she’s here and Finn knows and he’s definitely about to cry now.

“How could you?” he asks. “With _her_?”

He shakes his head and turns away, but Rachel doesn’t miss the way he swipes under his eyes with his fingers in an effort to wipe away the tears discreetly. “After what she did to me.”

It hits her like a crushing boulder that Quinn and cheating are not foreign concepts to Finn.

She’s known it, yes, known for years.

But it slipped into the background after a while.

He’s been here before—with Quinn taking away the things he thought he had—and Rachel thinks she’d come to sympathize with Quinn since that first time, but never really considered Finn’s lingering feelings about it all.

“Did you just forget all that stuff she did to you, too?” he asks. “The names? The drawings? The slushies?”

Rachel shakes her head because, “She…She’s different now.”

He scoffs. “People don’t change,” he tells her, brushing away another tear. “Not people like Quinn Fabray.”

She crosses her arms and looks to the floor. “She _has_ changed, Finn,” she tells him.

“No, she hasn’t, Rachel,” he counters. “She’s just a good actress. And she’s got you fooled. She…I thought she was okay last year, too, but…all she does is break hearts, Rachel. She did it to me, then Sam. She’ll do it to you, too.”

“No,” is all Rachel manages to say.

She’s not sure who’s crying more now—him or her.

“I love you, Rachel,” he’s saying. “I love you so much. Please—”

He breaks off and doesn’t finish, but she doesn’t answer, either.

In fact, she doesn’t even look at him.

“Okay,” he says quietly and then he turns and leaves.

.

“Hey, there you are.”

Rachel’s at her locker, putting her coat in and she freezes when she hears these words, that voice.

“Are you okay?”

Rachel takes a deep breath and starts pulling out books.

Quinn has reached her now and leans against the locker beside her.

“You didn’t answer any of my texts over the weekend,” she says, sounding worried.

Rachel nods. “Yeah, I, um…I wasn’t feeling too well.”

Quinn frowns. “Are you okay now?” she asks.

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

This is, in fact, a lie.

She’d spent the entirety of the weekend locked away in her room, dodging her fathers’ questions and her phone entirely.

Actually, she hadn’t wanted to come to school at all, but her fathers had, very thoroughly, checked to see if she was sick.

Unable to fake it, she’d been found to be in perfect health and they’d sent her to school two periods late, despite her arguments.

She closes her locker and can’t bring herself to look at the other girl.

She doesn’t.

Instead, she starts off down the hall.

“Hey, you don’t seem fine.”

There’s a warm, soft hand on her arm and Rachel stops walking.

“What’s wrong?”

_Did you just forget about all that stuff she did to you?_

Rachel turns and looks at Quinn, sees the concern in the other girl’s eyes.

_The names? The drawings? The slushies?_

“Sorry,” she says, quietly. “I’m…I’m tired.”

Quinn seems to hesitate for a moment, before accepting this with a stiff nod. “Okay, well, this is your free period, right?”

Rachel, reluctantly, nods.

“Would you want to study with me for our test in AP Lit tomorrow?”

_She’s just a good actress. And she’s got you fooled._

Rachel feels a prickle on the back of her neck and, when she looks down the hallway, she can see Finn, watching them from his locker.

She locks eyes with him and he looks more broken than she thought was possible for a fraction of a second before he looks away.

“Yeah,” she whispers, looking back at Quinn.

Quinn smiles.

.

They’re alone in the library for about ten minutes before Tina comes over and asks if she can join them.

Quinn looks like she wants to say no, but Rachel agrees because she’s not sure she can handle them being alone right now.

She would really rather not start crying again.

So, she watches Quinn, flipping through her copy of _The Awakening_ and wants to reach out and touch her.

But Finn is there, in her head, looking two inches tall and _crying_.

She remembers the cold blast of icy corn syrup on her face—the sound of laughter, Quinn’s above them all, mouth open in a cold grin as she watched Rachel wipe ice out of her burning eyes all those times.

She remembers the first time she saw the pictures in the stalls in the girls’ bathroom—the ones with her in all sorts of horrible positions, saying terrible and vulgar things.

She remembers the dip in her heart every time she opened her Myspace page to read the comments on her videos.

This has always been there, under the surface—this terror that the girl Quinn used to be will return. She’d never forgotten the years of torment, even if she was able to suppress it most of the time.

But, now that Finn is questioning Quinn’s actions, Rachel can’t help but tag along.

Because how could she forget the names and the teasing? How could she forget going home every day and feeling like she was nothing?

“Are you okay?”

Rachel looks up to find Quinn looking at her.

She almost says that no, she isn’t okay, but she doesn’t get the chance.

Blaine, Mercedes, and a few others come in and tell them that Mr. Schuester said they may be able to perform some more Michael Jackson at Regionals.

Everyone seems excited, but Rachel can’t even gather enough strength to pretend.

.

She rushes home after school and closes herself back up in her room.

Her dads try to get her to come out for dinner, but give up after a a half hour or so.

She keeps her phone in the drawer of her nightstand, but she can hear it buzzing periodically all evening.

It isn’t until she’s in bed that night that it finally stops.

.

Quinn doesn’t meet her at her locker at all the next day.

She doesn’t say a word in any of the classes they share, either.

Rachel isn’t sure if it’s better or worse.

.

Instead of going to lunch that day—where she’ll have to deal with both Quinn and Finn simultaneously—Rachel spends her lunch period on the stage.

She had originally planned to use the choir room, like she used to during her lunch period—before she had friends—but, apparently, the jazz band has started using it to rehearse.

She’s playing notes on the piano, aimlessly, trying to get her head to stop echoing Finn’s worse—which is nearly impossible because she’s on the stage where he said them—when she hears footsteps.

When she looks up, Quinn is walking over to her, tentatively.

“Hey,” she says, waving nervously and coming to a stop beside the piano.

Rachel’s head hurts. “Hey.”

“You, uh…You weren’t at lunch, so I…thought I’d try to find you.”

Rachel nods and looks back down at the piano.

“Rachel, I’m…” She looks up again. “I’m really sorry about whatever I did to upset you.”

She frowns. “Quinn—”

Quinn sheakes her head, cutting her off. “No, really. You’ve been upset and distant and…ignoring me. So, whatever I did, really, I’m sorry.”

Rachel looks at her, and this is the same girl that called her “manhands.” The same girl that sneered at her in the hallway and belittled her time and time again.

But she’s apologizing now—something she never would have done before.

She’s not trying to pretend she doesn’t care, which, Rachel thinks, has to mean _something_.

Rachel gets to her feet and takes a step towards Quinn until they’re almost touching.

For anyone else, this position would be too intimate—it would be too close. But she’s touched Quinn just about everywhere that’s hidden at least once and Quinn has had her lips pretty all over Rachel, so it doesn’t really matter, even if they’d agreed they wouldn’t go there anymore.

“It’s not your fault I’m upset,” Rachel says.

In a way, it is, but Quinn hasn’t been that girl that’s upsetting her for a while now.

She expects Quinn to look relieve, but, instead, Quinn just looks confused.

“Then why were you ignoring me?”

Rachel looks away. “I’ve been…dealing with some stuff.” She shrugs. “It’s not important.”

Quinn doesn’t seem convinced, though.

_People don’t change. Not people like Quinn Fabray._

Rachel frowns and runs her eyes over Quinn’s face, searching for any sign of the girl she used to be.

“What?” Quinn asks, her hand moving up to her face as if she thinks there’s something there that’s drawn Rachel’s gaze to her.

Rachel shakes her head in answer and then stands on her tiptoes and presses her lips against Quinn’s.

Quinn stiffens, like she wasn’t expecting this turn of events, but ends up pressing the fingertips of her right hand into Rachel’s waist and kissing her back.

“What was that for?” she asks, when Rachel has pulled away.

Her fingers are still on Rachel’s waist and Rachel can feel Quinn squeeze her three measured, gentle times.

Rachel wants to say _Did you really mean all those things you used to say to me, about me?_

Or, _Did you actually think it was funny when those kids used to slushie me?_

Or kiss her again, say, _Why couldn’t it have always been this way? You and me?_

But Quinn wouldn’t have an answer, wouldn’t know what to say to this girl she used to work so hard to make feel worthless.

Rachel shakes her head. “I don’t know.”

.

They find out about Blaine leaking their plans for Regionals in rehearsal that day.

Under normal circumstances, Rachel would probably start yelling at him, call him all sorts of names like “traitor” and the like.

But Finn is sitting in front of her and Quinn is beside her and she still feels like she’s being torn in half, so she stays quiet.

.

Apparently, Blaine was being literal when he said they should take it “to the streets”.

The club makes plans to meet up that night and Rachel gets out of it somehow, telling them that she’s too tired.

Quinn throws her a look, a worried one, but it’s ill-timed because Finn does too.

He seems just as concerned, but with a hint of something else there.

Regret, maybe.

She ducks out of the room before either of them can stop her.

.

Kurt calls her late that night, after she’s already in bed, and tells her about Blaine’s eye.

He’s crying, probably, and she tries to comfort him, but it’s almost as if she’s forgotten how.

.

Artie has a meltdown in rehearsal the next day and Finn stops Rachel when she tries to leave after they’re finished.

“Can I talk to you?” he asks.

Her stomach drops because she remembers how well the last time he said that went.

She avoids Quinn’s eyes and lingers in the choir room with him until they’re alone.

“I wanted to apologize,” he tells her and she makes eye contact with him for the first time since Monday. “For yelling and stuff. I…I didn’t react well. I’m sorry about that.”

She nods to show that she heard him, not quite trusting her voice to get the job done efficiently.

“But…that stuff about Quinn. I meant it.” She makes a face and fights the urge to take a step away from him. “I mean…I didn’t say it the best way, but…How do you know you can trust her, Rachel?”

She’s not actually sure how to describe it in a way that makes sense.

So, she just says, “Because I just do.”

He nods. “Do you love her?”

She looks away and doesn’t answer because she doesn’t have an answer.

She doesn’t know because she hasn’t really thought to put a name to the way she feels when Quinn touches her, kisses her back, smiles her way.

It’s different than it was with Finn, with Jesse.

So, so different.

Maybe because Quinn is the first person to not expect anything in return for her affection.

She doesn’t ask that Rachel be anyone other than who she is.

A big change, Rachel thinks, from someone who used to torture her on a daily basis.

Finn says, “I just…I don’t want her to hurt you.”

She wants to laugh, because all people seem to do is hurt her.

People who are now her friends used to call her names and throw ice cold beverages in her face.

It’s stopped now and she’s trying to be better about trusting them, but it’s hard to do that when you’ve been proven wrong about the intentions of others so many times.

“I meant it when I said I still love you,” Finn tells and he’s a lot of things, but he’s not a good liar.

He’s telling the truth.

And, maybe for the first time, he’s not asking her for anything by telling her this.

“And I meant it when I asked you to marry me.”

He leans down and she almost steps out of reach, but fights the urge.

He kisses her cheek and says, “Just think it over,” and leaves her standing there for the second time in a week.

.

She spends another evening locked in her bedroom.

When she can’t sleep, she decides to check her phone.

Unlike the past few nights, she doesn’t have a plethora of unread text messages.

This time, she only has one.

It’s from Quinn and it says, _Hey, I have some really great news to tell you! Text me when you get this, okay?_

She’s not sure why, but this fills her with more dread than she thought possible.

Needless to say, she doesn’t text Quinn back, but she doesn’t ever get to sleep, either.

.

She manages to avoid Quinn for the first half of the next day.

That is, until the break before lunch when she’s in the bathroom straightening her makeup.

Quinn comes in and Rachel wonders if there’s time for her to escape.

There isn’t, though, because Quinn’s face lights up and she walks over to her.

“Hey, I’ve been looking all over for you.”

Rachel smiles a little and says, “Found me.”

Quinn grins. “Did you get my text?”

Rachel shakes her head and looks away.

Quinn seems to buy it, though. “Oh, well, I have something great to tell you.” She sets her bag on the sink and pulls out a letter that she hands to Rachel.

“What’s this?” Rachel asks, taking the letter.

She opens it and thinks that she finally knows what devastation feels like.

Because it’s an acceptance letter.

From Yale.

“My ticket out of here,” Quinn says. “I got it, early admissions. I guess the essay I wrote about overcoming adversity while maintaining a straight-A average during a teen pregnancy really turned on the admissions board.”

She laughs a little at her own joke.

Rachel can’t look at her, but she realizes that she’s supposed to act excited—that Quinn is getting out, that she’ll be heading to the East Coast come fall, except Rachel hasn’t heard from NYADA, so she might end up stuck in Lima and it’s hard to act excited about Quinn leaving her behind.

If there’s one thing worse than having to compromise who Quinn used to be with who she’s become, it’s that.

But Rachel is a good actress, so she smiles.

She says, “Quinn, that’s amazing. That’s so great,” and hugs her.

Quinn hugs her back and Rachel has to break away when it lingers a little too long.

She must see a touch of fear in Rachel’s face, though, because she says, “Rachel, I’m sure your NYADA one is on its way. You’ll get in. You have to.”

She sounds like she believes the words.

Rachel nods and tries to swallow, but can’t for some reason.

She hands the letter back to Quinn, who slips it into her bag.

When Rachel finally manages to swallow, she knows she has to say it before the opportunity slips away—before Quinn is packing her bags and leaving her behind.

And there’s this sick part of her that blames Quinn for this pain in her chest. As if the other girl is leaving just to break her heart.

That part of her wants to hurt Quinn like she’s been hurt—not just now, but every time Quinn has hurt her in the past.

It’s not fair. Not at all. Rachel knows that.

Because Quinn hasn’t called her names in so long, hasn’t bullied her in forever.

Quinn is sincere now and Quinn kisses Rachel with every part of herself she has left to offer.

Or, at least, that’s what it feels like.

But still, Rachel says, “I actually have something I wanted to talk to you about.”

Quinn zips her bag up and turns to face her, eyes bright and still smiling. “Sure.”

Rachel takes a shaky breath. “Um…Finn…asked me to marry him.”

A shadow crosses over Quinn’s face and her smile falls away. She lets out a little gasp like she can’t believe what she’s just heard, but recovers by saying, “What did you say?”

Rachel shakes her head. “Nothing…y-yet.”

“Well,” Quinn pauses, and then she says, “You… _can’t_ ,” like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“Why?” Rachel asks, because she wants Quinn to say that she doesn’t want her to marry Finn—that she would be heartbroken, that this feeling is mutual and she won’t leave her behind, won’t forget her.

“Because…Rachel…” She takes a breath and shakes her head, placing a hand on the sink to brace herself. “Look…I’ve dated Finn, Puck, Sam…” She twitches her eyebrows up and laughs a little, but it sounds harsh and echoes off the walls of the bathroom in a way that makes Rachel’s spine tingle. “Even thought I loved some of them. But…by the time the snow falls in New Haven next winter, I…won’t know why.”

Quinn is looking at her in that way she does when her words mean more than they appear, and Rachel wonders if Quinn meant to include her name on that list after Sam.

“I just…I would hate the idea o-of dragging an anchor from my past into the bright lights of my future…Rachel, you broke up with him for a reason. Sometimes people outgrow each other. Don’t forfeit everything you want for one person. No one is worth that, especially not Finn Hudson.”

“That’s an awful thing to say,” Rachel whispers.

Quinn shakes her head and breathes out raggedly. “I just don’t want you to do something that you’ll regret for the rest of your life, okay? And I know that this less about wanting to get married and more about Finn being…so-some sort of security blanket for you when the world gets too scary.”

Rachel opens her mouth to protest, but Quinn cuts her off.

“No, I know you, Rachel. Don’t run to him because you’re terrifed of your dreams not working out. You’re young. You’ve barely begun yet. You have so much time left to do the things you’re meant to and, I’m sorry…but marrying Finn isn’t one of those things.”

“You don’t know that,” Rachel counters. “How could you know that? Maybe this is all I’m good for.”

Quinn laughs, bitterly. “Rachel, Finn has _never_ been all that you’re good for. You’re so far beyond him.”

She pauses and leans closer.

“You’re so much better than that, than him. Please,” she says and her voice is quiet now. “Don’t do this.”

Rahcel wants to say that she won’t, that she’ll follow her plans like she’d meant to.

But her mind is on the letter in Quinn’s bag.

“Rachel, the only answer you should give him is, ‘goodbye’.” She grabs her bag and slips it over her shoulder. “Clearly that’s all _he’s_ good for.”

Even if Rachel could respond, she doesn’t get the chance, because Quinn is gone a few seconds later—the bathroom door swinging shut behind her.

.

For the first time in her academic career, Rachel cuts class.

Instead of going to lunch and her final two classes, she stays in the bathroom, sitting in a stall with the door locked, back against the cold, metal tile of the wall, knees drawn up.

She only emerges after the final bell has rung, dismissing the students for the day, and, even then, she only goes to glee rehearsal because Regionals is coming up quick.

It’s a mistake, though, clearly and she probably should have just gone home because Quinn sings _Never Can Say Goodbye_ and Rachel just feels numb.

Quinn makes her Yale announcement when she’s done and then she says a lot about moving on and letting go of the past and her eyes never leave Rachel’s.

She doesn’t even try to hide it.

When everyone swarms Quinn at the end, Rachel ducks out of the room, not quite trusting herself to stick around.

She runs into Puck in the hallway and maybe there’s a reason he’s out here instead of inside, hugging the girl he had a child with, but Rachel doesn’t care to ask.

She just falls in step beside him as he heads towards the exit of the school and says, “I need Shelby’s address.”

He seems surprised that she’s talking to him, that she’s even acknowledging his existence.

Maybe that’s on her.

Maybe she should make more of an effort to see people outside of her usual bubble of companions.

But she’s about three seconds away from losing it and she doesn’t know why even if she has an idea and she really, really needs to go.

“Why?” he asks.

She doesn’t have time for this.

“Please,” she says, in lieu of just demanding it.

Puck stops walking, looking at her with worried and confused eyes. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

“Noah—” Her voice has dropped significantly in volume and she thinks she can hear it quaking a little. “—just tell me where she lives.”

“Um.” He shakes his head, still frowning, but tugs his phone out of his jeans and types something. “There you go.”

Her phone buzzes in her bag and she pulls it out to find that he’s texted her the address.

She almost says, “Thanks,” but never gets around to it, choosing instead to shove past him and out of the school.

.

It takes about ten minutes of driving through the icy Lima streets, two minutes of walking through the parking lot and up the stairs to the third floor of Shelby’s apartment complex, and roughly thirteen firm, hard knocks for the door to open.

Rachel didn’t really consider it, but now that she’s here, she’s almost ready to thank God Beth is not in her arms.

She’d only seen the girl once—at the hospital two years ago—and she’d looked so much like Quinn then.

Rachel can only imagine that it’s gotten worse as she’s grown up and she couldn’t handle that right now.

“Rachel?” Shelby’s frowning just like Puck had been.

She’s probably on the verge of asking what Rachel’s doing there, but apparently Rachel has held back tears as long as she can because she’s suddenly crying, covering her quivering mouth with her palm.

“I-I’m…I didn’t know where else to go,” she says between sobs, her voice shaky, and, if she were looking, she’d see Shelby’s horrified look. “My-my dads would…they’d…”

She can’t quite manage to say what her dads would do, though Shelby seems to get the picture because Rachel is being ushered into her apartment and towards the couch, where Shelby sits her down and tentatively pulls her into her arms.

“Rachel, honey, what’s going on with you?”

Despite the way the question is worded, Shelby doesn’t seem to be asking Rachel, just asking in general.

It’s for the better, because Rachel isn’t sure how to say anything that’s running through her head.

And she wants to say, _Quinn is leaving me behind._

She wants to say, _I’m nothing, nothing, nothing._

She wants to say, _I’m going to be stuck in this town after all._

But she can’t even seem to open her mouth to form the words.

She wants to tell Shelby about Quinn leaving, about everyone making plans to pack their bags and never turn back once they’ve graduated.

How everyone has a plan, a person, a tangible dream, but her.

That she’s not good enough for NYADA or New York, never has been.

And Quinn said it.

Quinn said that she _has_ to get into NYADA.

Like an ultimatum she hadn’t meant to make.

Because Quinn can’t be with someone who’s going nowhere.

And everything is slipping out of reach.

She hears herself say, “Like quicksand,” so quietly between her sobs that she doesn’t even realize Shelby heard her.

“What, honey?” Shelby whispers, her chin shifting against the crown of Rachel’s head.

But Rachel doesn’t know.

The only noise she can make is a loud sob and then she feels Shelby tighten her hold on her.

Shelby shushes her and holds her and at one point in Rachel’s life, this was all she wanted—her mother, holding her, caring.

But, right now, it doesn’t fix anything.

It doesn’t fix anything at all.

.

Rachel’s not positive how long it takes, but, eventually, she stops crying.

Shelby brushes some hair out of her face when she sits back, wiping her thumbs under her daughter’s eyes to dry them.

She smiles, awkwardly, like she’s trying to make things better, and Rachel returns it before shaking her head helplessly.

“I’m…I’m sorry,” she whispers, shaking her head again. “About barging in here.”

Shelby frowns. “Rachel, it’s…I mean, it was certianly a surprise—” She smiles again. “—but you’re always welcome here. I know…I know I haven’t been great about keeping an open line of communication, but…I’m…You can come to me.”

Rachel nods. It’s nice to hear that, nice that she has someone who cares enough to always welcome her and listen.

“Is this…?” Shelby trails off and clears her throat. “Is it the same thing it was earlier on in the year? That’s bothering you?”

In a way, Rachel supposes that it is, even though it’s definitely more skewed now—it’s more about losing _everything_ rather than simply losing Quinn.

Quinn is just the bloody, heartwrenching lining to it all.

But Rachel isn’t sure how much of that she’s allowed to say—how much Shelby will appreciate hearing.

After all, from the situation between her and Quinn earlier on in the year that Puck told her about, it’s likely that they’re mortal enemies or something, even if it’s hard to picture.

That would be something they’d have in common at least, Rachel thinks bitterly.

Quinn being an enemy.

Even if Quinn isn’t technically Rachel’s anymore—even if they were moving past that.

Past tense.

Now she doesn’t even know.

“It’s, um…It’s related.”

Shelby opens her mouth to respond, but there’s the sound of a toddler crying from down the hall by the living room and Rachel stiffens immediately in her seat on the sofa.

She’d forgotten about Beth—Quinn’s _daughter_.

“Oh,” Shelby says, as if waking up from a dream. “It’s, um…She just woke up from her nap. Can you…?” She gets to her feet, going to leave, but then she just stands there, looking at Rachel. “Would you want to…?”

She jerks her head back towards the hallway and Rachel doesn’t really know how to answer.

If it was any other kid in there, any kid who didn’t share Quinn’s genes, Rachel would have been quick to say yes, despite the lingering chagrin.

Still, she doesn’t necessarily trust herself to be alone right now and _not_ start crying again, so she nods and gets to her feet, following Shelby down the hall to the nursery.

And then Beth is there, in Shelby’s arms, little and blonde and _beautiful._

Rachel’s hand drifts to the star pendant on her neck, fingering it nervously as she eyes the little girl, who Shelby is rocking back and forth in an attempt to calm her.

“Beth,” Shelby says when she’s stopped crying, holding her so that she’s facing Rachel. “Meet Rachel.”

Shelby’s smile is more than a little nervous, so Rachel tries to soothe her with a genuine smile of her own, aimed towards Shelby’s— _Quinn’s_ —little girl.

“Hi there,” Rachel whispers, taking a step forward.

Beth grabs her finger, looking up at her with wide eyes and the press of her tiny fist is almost enough to make Rachel start crying again.

“She looks so much like her,” she breathes and Shelby’s shoulders become stiff, the bouncing coming to a halt.

It resumes after a moment and then Shelby just says, “She really does. Just as pretty.”

Rachel almost agrees aloud. “She’s going to Yale.”

She hopes that it’s obvious who she’s talking about, and it must be because Shelby looks both perplexed and a little proud.

“Is she really?”

Rachel nods. “Um…yeah, she…She, um…Told us today.”

The bouncing stops again, but this time only for a moment. “Oh,” Shelby whispers, so light, so quiet. “Is…Is that what…?”

She trails off and Rachel backs away from Beth and her pretty, green eyes, her pale skin.

“Um…” Rachel sucks in some air. “It was…a contributing factor.”

“I didn’t know you two were close.”

It doesn’t sound suggestive, just curious.

Rachel shrugs and wraps her arms around her middle, resisting the urge to shiver because, really, it’s not cold. “We…We aren’t…We’re sort of…”

She’s not certain what she means to say, but it’s clear from the way Shelby’s eyebrows lift that she gets what’s being implied.

“Oh.”

The word lingers for a moment.

“I…I thought you were dating that Finn boy.”

Rachel chuckles harshly, quietly. “I…I _was_.”

“Oh.”

This time, the word drops a little, sounding slightly accusatory.

“Well, you know, New Haven and New York are pretty close. Only a couple of hours, I think.”

Shelby moves over and sits down in a rocking chair in the corner, placing Beth on her lap and letting the little girl play with her fingers quietly.

Rachel leans back against the wall, letting her shoulders rest against the white-cloud-covered wallpaper. “I…I actually haven’t heard back from NYADA,” she whispers.

Shelby frowns, rocking back and forth. “I’m sure you will, Rachel,” she says. “I mean, how could you not? You’re an incredible performer. So much better than a lot of people who are out there trying to live the same dreams.”

“Maybe.”

“That’s why it’s important to keep your head up, sweetie.”

Shelby hesitates on the last word, as if she’s not sure that she’s allowed to use it in relation to her (mostly) estranged daughter.

“I just…I don’t want to be _nothing_.”

Shelby sighs. “You could never be nothing. Not as long as you have people who care about you, people who love you even when you’re at your worst.”

The words hover in the air between them and Rachel can feel them bouncing around in her head, behind her eyes.

“Yeah,” she says quietly. “I guess so.”

.

She stays for another twenty or so minutes and, when she leaves, Shelby hugs her.

“You can always come to me, Rachel,” she says and Rachel nods.

“Thank you.”

She doesn’t cry in the car or when she finally gets home.

She doesn’t answer when her dads ask where she’s been.

She doesn’t do anything because she’s not really sure how.

.

The next day is almost like being transported back to November, back to months ago when her and Quinn weren’t speaking—weren’t really _anything_ to each other other than a mistake.

And, okay, maybe that hasn’t really changed because there’s certainly a level of wariness on both their ends.

Rachel’s is just becoming more dominant.

After glee rehearsal, she asks Finn to stay while everyone else goes out to the auditorium to confront the Warblers with Santana and Kurt.

He seems worried about whatever she’s about to say.

“Why do you want to marry me, Finn?” she asks when they’re alone.

“I already told you,” is his answer.

“Yeah,” she says. “I know. I heard that, before…I mean, now. Now that you know what’s been going on with Quinn. Why do you still want to marry me?”

He frowns. “Because I love you, Rachel.”

She nods. “Yeah, you’ve said that. But what about when… _if_ I go to New York, Finn? Are you prepared to uproot your entire life to follow me there? Because that’s what getting married would involve.”

He doesn’t answer, so she presses on.

“You’ll resent me, Finn. You know you will.”

“No, I won’t,” he cuts in suddenly, looking like he absolutely believes these words.

“You already do,” she says, sighing and running a hand through the ends of her hair gently. “You’re not going to just forget what happened with…with Quinn—” There’s a bit of hesitation around the other girl’s name. “It’s not going to fade into the background just because we got married. Marriage won’t magically fix all of our problems. There are other things to consider here.”

His eyebrows are drawn now and his frown is firm.

“Marriage, is about two people wanting to be together, for better or for worse,” she continues. “It’s about unconditional love, the kind that doesn’t just…open old wounds when they’re hurt, or, or…angry with each other.”

He glances away and shoves his hands in his pockets, looking properly chastised. “Are you saying ‘no’, then?”

She huffs, frustrated that he’s clearly not understanding the point she’s trying to make.

“Finn, I just want you to answer the question. Honestly.”

He takes a seat by the risers and leans his elbows onto his knees, eyes cast to the floor. “I…I…I guess I just wanted to make sure you’d always be mine,” he confesses. “You were the only person to see me for what I could be instead of what I already am. I’m just scared that, without you…I’ll become another statistic—another sad, lonely guy sitting at the bar talking about his glory days.”

Rachel crosses the room to sit down beside him.

“I guess I wanted you to be there with me..forever…to remind me that I’m worth something when I forget.”

“You don’t have to marry me to get that,” Rachel tells him. “I’m more than happy to remind you of that anytime.”

And she means it, she does. Because, even if he’s not perfect or flawless—even if he makes a lot of mistakes—Finn doesn’t deserve to feel that he’s worth nothing.

He smiles at her, dismally. “It’s more than that, though,” he tells her. “I guess…your dream was always becoming the next…Barbra Streisand and winning a Tony and having this amazing life with someone you love on your arm to share it with you.” He shrugs. “And, for a while, I didn’t know if I even had a plan for my life. I…I didn’t know what I wanted before I met you.”

There’s an ache in Rachel’s chest when he says this, and it only gets worse when he adds, “And, then, suddenly, I couldn’t picture a future that you weren’t in.”

She looks at the ground, unable to meet his eyes.

“And I know that I’ve made a lot of mistakes in the past,” he says, and then scoffs at himself. “Some of them pretty recent. I know…I can be an asshole…that I _am_ an asshole a lot. But…you became my dream—all that I wanted in the world—and it was, like, the scariest thing ever. I couldn’t say, ‘hi,’ to you in the halls without being terrified I was gonna let you down.”

He reaches out and takes her hand and Rachel lets him, lets his warm skin envelop her own.

“I don’t deserve you, Rachel,” he says. “I don’t. But I want to marry you so that I can spend the rest of my life trying to become the kind of person who does.”

She still can’t look at him, but she’s suddenly saying, “And…what if I’m not that person? What if you marry me and find out that I’m nothing and my dreams are nothing and I don’t get into NYADA? What then?”

He slides closer to her and squeezes her hand. “If you don’t get into NYADA, then we’ll stay here next year and you can practice extra hard and reapply. I’ll work at Burt’s garage full-time and take care of you so that you can.”

“And...” She swallows thickly. “And…If I don’t get in then, even after reapplying?”

A tear slips down her cheek, but she doesn’t wipe it away for fear of drawing attention to the fact that she’s crying.

“Then…then…” Finn breathes in deeply through his nose, like he’s thinking this hypothetical scenario through carefully. “We’ll find you a new dream, okay? Together. I’ll be there with you every step of the way.”

And, maybe he’s the first person to talk about what would happen if she doesn’t get in.

Maybe he’s the first to acknowledge that it’s a distinct possibility.

Maybe that’s why she’s able to finally look at him. “I’m not worth all that, Finn,” she tells him. “Don’t waste your life on a Lima Loser.”

His arm goes around her and he pulls her into him. “Don’t say that,” he scolds, a touch of frustration in his voice. “You’re worth all that and more.”

She can’t help it—she presses her face into his shirt in a sad attempt to muffle the sobs.

“And…if you don’t get in,” Finn continues, “Then, I guess we’l be Lima Losers together, huh?”

She can feel his lips against her hair as he presses a kiss to her head.

“You could never be nothing to me,” he whispers and he holds her until she, finally, stops crying.

.

Kurt gets his letter from NYADA that informs him of his status as a finalist.

Rachel does not.

She’s excited for him briefly, but then she sees Quinn across the hall, talking to Santana and Brittany.

Kurt is saying something about it not meaning anything that she hasn’t gotten her letter. She thinks she hears the word, “yet,” thrown in there, but her eyes are on Quinn, who is laughing as Brittany does some strange robotic dance move.

“I didn’t even make it to the finals,” she says and Quinn must feel her gaze because she turns, looks at her, locks her hazel eyes on Rachel and Rachel is certain she’s being pulled apart at the seams.

Because that’s when she realizes it—when she sees the future planned, plotted, and mapped in Quinn’s eyes, that Quinn is so far ahead that Rachel can’t keep up anymore.

She tears her eyes away and drops her head, looking down at her shoes as she feels that tell-tale burn in her eyes, letting her know that she’s about to cry.

“I knew it, I—” She cuts herself off and exhales loudly. “I…I had this weird feeling in my stomach all week long.”

She doesn’t say that it, maybe, had something to do with everything else that was going on—with Finn’s proposal and Quinn’s disappointed gaze.

When she lifts her head, Quinn isn’t staring at her anymore.

She’s gone, walking down the hallway with her two friends and talking as if the world around Rachel isn’t spinning.

Rachel sniffles and turns back around to face Kurt just as he says, “Rachel…don’t be stupid.”

The word shoots through her chest and she finds herself repeating it back to him, even though maybe she needs to hear it.

Maybe she needs to hear that she might be overreacting even though it certainly doesn’t feel that way.

“Stupid is watching all of your friends make plans for their future and realizing that you have none at all.”

She’s crying now. Definitely. She can feel it in the way her throat feels swollen, the way her chin is shaking just so.

“No plans, no college,” she continues and Kurt just watches her, like he doesn’t know what he can say to help this. “Nowhere to go. All I’d have here is…”

She shakes her head because the answer isn’t, ‘Quinn’. It isn’t anything.

But then there’s Finn, holding her hand in the choir room, kissing her head and telling her that even if she’s ‘nothing’ she’ll always be ‘something’ to him.

She takes a deep breath. “All I’d have here is…is Finn and…”

Kurt is reeling backwards now, as if struck and she hates the look of absolute pity on his face.

“And I have no idea what I’m doing.” She barely finishes the sentence because a quiet sob closes around the word, making it sound tight and unfinished.

Her eyes are closed, but she feels Kurt as he rushes forward to wrap his arms around her, pulling her tight against his chest.

“It’s all right,” he whispers into her hair, running a careful hand down her back in soothing strokes.

It doesn’t sound like he believes it necessarily.

Likely, he only said it because, what else is there to say?

.

She goes looking for Finn after school that day.

She tells herself that it’s not because Quinn is leaving, because Quinn said she didn’t want to drag her past with her to Yale.

Rachel tells herself that there’s no reason why she, herself, should fit into the category of ‘Quinn’s past events’.

She goes looking for him.

Because Rachel Berry had so many dreams and maybe they were just too big to ever really come true.

He’s unlocking his truck in the parking lot, wincing as the cold breeze nips his exposed skin, making his cheeks and nose red with irritation.

“Rachel?” he asks when he sees her.

Years down the road, Rachel thinks Quinn might thank her for severing this tie. When Quinn is a successful Yale graduate, she’ll appreciate the fact that Rachel, who will still be in Lima where she’d left her, did this.

So Rachel looks at him and tells herself that, even if she can’t have what she really wants, at least there will be one person in the world that she won’t have disappointed.

“Yes,” she says, and he looks confused, so she clarifies with, “Yes, I’ll marry you.”

He looks wary, as if he can’t believe this is really happening. “What changed your mind?” he asks.

She wants to say that this isn’t about changing her mind—that part of her decided she’d marry him the moment they’d first started dating.

But, with everything in her world turning sideways, he’s the only thing not tilting.

She says, “You’re gonna keep me out of the quicksand.”

Confusion settles more deeply into his expression, but he nods once. “Are you sure?”

There are voices behind them, then, and she turns to see Quinn walking towards her car, talking to Sam.

Quinn with her bright future Rachel never stood a chance at being in.

Quinn who used to make fun of her with a smile on her face.

Quinn who kissed her, slowly, in her bed when the rest of the world was asleep.

Rachel turns back to Finn, the only thing in her life that doesn’t make her feel absolutely terrified, and says, “Yes. I’m sure.”

.

It’s late that night when she sneaks out of her bedroom, down creaky stairs to her car, and drives through the empty streets to the Fabray’s house.

The déjà vu of the whole situation almost makes her shiver because she’s done this before, except the lights are off in the house this time when she parks in the driveway and turns off her car.

Instead of ringing the doorbell, she calls Quinn from the front porch and she’s terrified as she listens to the call ring, though she’s not sure if it’s over the idea of Quinn not answering or the alternative.

Quinn does answer, with a groggy, “Rachel?”

All Rachel says is, “Come to your front door,” and then she hangs up.

The door opens a moment or two later, revealing a sleepy-looking Quinn on the other side.

“What are you doing here?” she asks, but Rachel doesn’t answer.

Instead, she brushes past her and goes up the stairs to Quinn’s bedroom.

Quinn meets her up there after a minute or two, closing the door behind them and looking at Rachel from behind her glasses with curious eyes.

“What’s going on?” she asks and Rachel can’t find her voice.

She just stares at Quinn, eyes drifting down to Quinn’s t-shirt—with a cartoon raven on it and a speech bubble filled with the world, “Nevermore!”—the pale expanse of her legs descending from purple sleep shorts.

Maybe Rachel gets distracted the way she usually does by Quinn’s skin, but then her mind is on what Finn might wear to bed and how it probably won’t be an Edgar Allan Poe shirt—how his wedding band will rest on the nightstand by their bed and she’ll be able to see it when she goes to turn off the lamp.

Her throat feels tight again.

“Rachel?”

Rachel looks up at her, frowning, and Quinn looks worried.

“Are you okay?”

Rachel shakes her head and takes a breath before she says, “I’m…I needed to see you.”

Quinn frowns, but seems to understand, taking a few steps closer and reaching a hand out to touch her.

Rachel finds herself meeting Quinn halfway, even though she doesn’t mean to, even though that’s not why she came here.

She tries to make sure her hand isn’t shaking too much.

“Okay,” Quinn says and she maneuvers them so that they’re sitting on the bed, still holding Rachel’s hand.

Their knees bump together and Rachel drops her eyes to the pale, pink carpet of Quinn’s bedroom floor, hoping that, if she can’t see the other girl, she’ll be able to focus on just being with her for now.

This might have been a bad idea, she realizes, and her mind drifts to the first night she’d spent in here—how she could now remember getting undressed on her own, and then by Quinn’s hand, but, at the time, she hadn’t been certain how it had happened.

How she’d expected to be embarrassed, shivering under the gaze of another person when her clothes were off, but that hadn’t happened.

How she’d been bare under Quinn’s touch, unable to think of anything other than Quinn’s skin and had known that Quinn was thinking about hers.

“I, um,” Rachel starts, lifting her eyes to meet the other girl’s.

Quinn gazes at her quietly, face dark with concern, and Rachel can’t help it; she leans in.

Except, she doesn’t kiss Quinn. Instead, she just rests their foreheads together, closing her eyes and she says, “I told Finn yes.”

Quinn’s eyes are closed, though Rachel isn’t sure when they drifted shut.

It’s hard to see the other girl, hard to make out her features because she’s so close that she’s just an unfocused blur.

“I’m going to marry him,” Rachel whispers, even though that had been clear.

Quinn says, “Rachel,” so softly and her breath is warm on Rachel’s face and she’s going to start crying if Quinn doesn’t open her eyes, but, likely, she’s going to cry anyway.

Rachel pulls her head back and Quinn looks at her, then down at their hands, still clasped tightly together.

“You told me once that I shouldn’t hate you for helping to send me towards my future,” she says.

Quinn’s eyebrows are low, tugged together, and Rachel takes another deep breath and holds it thinking this is it, this is it.

“The same goes for you. I’m another anchor from your past. I’ll only drag you down.”

Quinn looks like she wants to interrupt, but Rachel shakes her head.

“I just…I wanted to…”

“Right,” Quinn says stiffly. “I get it.”

She pulls herself back, angling her body away from Rachel and trying to tug her hand away, but Rachel squeezes it firmly to keep it there.

When Quinn looks back at her, her face is blank and Rachel, honestly, has no idea what she’s supposed to do with that.

Because, if she’s upset, Quinn isn’t showing it and Rachel hates the feeling that’s sinking into her gut.

It’s the same, cold stoicism that used to be a dominant feature for Quinn before this past year, before all of this and Rachel wishes that Quinn would just tell her what she’s feeling, what she really thinks about her becoming a nothing, even if it’s going to completely destroy her.

Quinn presses her lips together and finally manages to pull her hand away, using it, instead, to pinch her chin between her forefinger and thumb as if she’s thinking.

“What do you want me to say?” she asks and Rachel shakes her head—she doesn’t know.

She says as much, and then turns from her, fishing through the pocket of her coat to find the note she’d written before leaving her house.

Reaching out, she presses the note into Quinn’s hand and then presses a kiss to Quinn’s forehead.

Quinn winces as she does and draws back, and that’s Rachel’s cue to go.

She stands there in the doorway for a moment before saying, “Goodbye, Quinn,” and leaving.

.

The note she’d left behind took her three hours to write and is only two sentences long.

It’s a torn piece of notebook paper and all it says is, _I won’t let myself hold you back. I’m sorry._

_._

Her letter comes the next day.

Her dad drops it off in the office after texting her with too many exclamation points and a wave of nauseated panic hits her when she’s called to the office to retrieve it.

The world around her slows down when she opens it and then she reads the first few sentences and everything speeds back up.

She finds Kurt after class.

“Is…is that the…?” he asks when he sees the envelope in her hands.

She nods firmly. “My NYADA letter finally came in the mail, and, uh…I’m a finalist.”

He stares at her in disbelif.

“I’m a finalist,” she repeats and she’s probably supposed to be excited.

But this is just another chance to screw up, another chance to be proven wrong and to watch her dreams shatter on the ground around her.

But Kurt is grinning and saying, “Congrats!” as he tugs her into his arms and asking, “Have you told Finn yet?” when he releases her.

She shakes her head because, no, she hasn’t.

She hasn’t told Finn yet and she hasn’t told Quinn that, maybe, she was right after all.

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> told ya'.
> 
> this has a happy ending though, even if you hate Finn and Rachel right now.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> some more angst. woohoo.
> 
> takes place during "Heart" in season three.
> 
> my apologies for mistakes.

…

_January 26th, 2012_

..

Rachel stays home sick through Wednesday of the next week like a coward.

She spends those days in bed, pretending she’s sick and staring at her cell phone, as though she fully expects it to do something.

Her fathers, who had wanted to celebrate her letter from NYADA are confused, but know enough to leave her alone.

On Thursday, she finally gets up with her alarm clock and showers before getting dressed for school and, when she goes downstairs, her dads pretend not to be surprised to see her at breakfast.

“How are you feeling, sweetie?” Leroy asks, sipping his coffee and watching her sift through her fruit salad with a fork.

She’s not sure what to say, so she says, “Okay,” which he takes as an answer, when she’d really meant it as an affirmation that a question had been asked.

Rachel drives herself slowly to the school and almost turns around about half a dozen times.

The bell is close to ringing when she slips through the door, rushes to her locker, and hurries to class with her head down.

No one speaks to her.

She is not surprised because it’s not surprising.

Her classes that day drag on for what feels like years and she spends her lunch hour alone in the auditorium, trying not to cry.

She knows that she does not deserve to cry.

That she is the one who has made the bed that she now has to lie in—that she is the one who has failed, again; has proven her own shortcomings to herself and everyone; that she will, no doubt, continue to do so.

Her last two classes of the day are spent in desks just rows away from Quinn’s and she’s not actually positive how she makes it through them, but she does.

By the time they’re dismissed for the day, she’s exhausted and numb.

She goes straight home, skipping glee rehearsal entirely.

Finn and Kurt, the first people to talk to her the entire day, find her at her locker before she can slip out unnoticed.

When they ask if she’s okay, she shrugs in response.

Kurt accepts it with an unsure, “Okay,” that trails off.

He hugs her and leaves and Finn looks like he wants to touch her, comfort her somehow, but isn’t sure that it would be welcome.

“If you need me,” he starts, but it’s clear that even he isn’t sure how it was going to be finished, because he just leaves it at that.

Rachel nods, but says nothing.

Finn is fighting not to touch her still, she knows, and he squeezes the strap of his backpack in his fist before saying goodbye and follow his stepbrother to the choir room.

Rachel leaves the school alone.

.

Friday is a little better than the day before.

Kurt joins Rachel for lunch on the stage and talks about trivial things while she pushes her food around.

She should probably eat something, but her stomach won’t stop churning, so she doesn’t.

“—says that six hours of _Friends_ reruns is too many for one day, but Blaine assured me it was too few,” Kurt is saying.

Rachel knows that he’s trying to give her a sense of normalcy, which she appreciates, even if it isn’t working.

Kurt throws away her Styrofoam tray for her in the trash can by the door to the hall on their way out, then walks her to her next class.

“I’m here if you need me, you know,” he tells her as they stand outside her history classroom.

She nods. “I know.”

He says, “Okay,” but she can tell from the way it trails off that he’s only going to temporarily accept that answer.

“I’ll see you after class,” he tells her a moment later, squeezing her hand.

Rachel watches him until he’s around the corner before going inside the classroom and sitting down.

.

She actually goes to glee rehearsal that day.

Apparently, everyone is performing songs in Spanish.

Quinn is there, but she’s sitting in the front and Rachel is sitting beside Finn.

She feels just as torn as she did that time last week when their positions were switched and she’d been sitting beside Quinn instead.

Finn must see where she’s looking, because he gives her a sad smile and offers her his hand, which she takes.

She’s not sure why he’s putting up with her—why anyone is—and she’s not sure what she’s doing or feeling or anything.

She knows that she is numb.

She knows that she is going through the motions without really analyzing them and making decisions that she probably isn’t prepared to make.

Finn squeezes her hand as Mercedes sings a song that Rachel is pretty sure is being directed at Sam.

He mouths, “Are you okay?” and she almost says yes, but she’s starting to realize that she’s a pretty terrible liar.

.

Finn offers to walk her to her car before basketball practice, but she turns him down.

He looks like he doesn’t want to accept that, but nods and heads off instead.

So Rachel walks to her car alone like she did the day before and Rachel tries to feel something beyond the white noise in her head, the one that she’s pretty sure is consuming her senses.

It’s when she has her key in the lock—right before she goes to turn it—that she hears an achingly familiar voice behind her, softly calling out her name.

It’s been a week since she heard that voice, and, when she turns, Quinn is less than ten yards away heading towards her with measured strides.

She stops in front of Rachel’s car, pressing her palms into her thighs and looking, generally, just as blank-faced as she’d been a week ago.

“Rachel,” she says, and she has that same look on her face that she’d had before she’d left the bathroom, when Rachel had told her about Finn’s proposal.

And Rachel is doing this for Quinn’s benefit and she really, really can’t talk about it right now.

“I just,” Quinn is saying, “I think that we should talk about this.”

But Rachel can’t, so she shakes her head and it makes the blonde in front of her halt, stiffen, hike her shoulders up a bit.

“I have to go,” Rachel says and unlocks her car, getting in.

She’s not sure if she’s talking about having to go home or something deeper that involves Quinn’s brilliant future or plans to leave Lima forever, so she pulls out of the parking lot without looking back.

She turns the radio up as loud as it will go and it hurts her ears, but she doesn’t want to hear it if Quinn cries or if she calls after or if she says anything at all that could possibly change Rachel’s mind.

It doesn’t matter now. It doesn’t and it can’t.

Rachel is so tired of losing battles and people she loves and having her illusions of grandeur ripped from under her feet in terms of everything, really.

Quinn is better off without someone like her.

So, devastated and wondering she’s making the right choice, Rachel leaves Quinn standing in the parking lot, hoping that the distance she’s putting between them will, like soap suds and water, cleanse her of the memory of the other girl’s lips and soft words and fingertips.

As if, when Rachel is lying on her bed a handful of miles away, Quinn will cease to exist.

.

Kurt comes over the next morning.

Her dads must have let him in because he barges into her room, where she’s lying under the covers in the clothes she’d been wearing the day before.

“Okay,” he starts, standing with his hands on his hips in front of her bed. “You’re going to tell me what’s going on.”

She glances at him, then back to the window where the sunlight is pouring in and wishes Mother Nature at least had the decency to make it sleet or something more fitting.

“I’m serious, Rachel.” He walks over to her and yanks the covers back, off. “What is the matter with you? You act like both Megan Hilty and Shoshona Bean told you that you’re ugly and you have no friends.”

Rachel sits up, finally, and runs her hand over her hair, trying to smooth it down.

Kurt sits down beside her on the bed and she looks at him, at the worried look in his eyes and the frown on his lips.

She takes a breath and says, “Can you keep a secret?”

He nods, even though—as one of the school’s biggest gossips—the answer is usually a very emphatic _no_.

Still, she needs to tell someone who didn’t take her virginity, so she reaches into the drawer of her nightstand and pulls out Finn’s engagement ring.

Holding it in her palm, she hands it to him without a word.

She’s looking at the floor when she hears him say, “What the frilly hell is this?”

“An engagement ring,” she mumbles and then feels him stiffen beside her.

“Shut up.”

She shakes her head and looks over at the ring, pinned between his right thumb and forefinger. “Finn proposed.”

He’s silent for a long time and then, “What did you say?”

She releases some air from between parted lips. “I said yes.”

She can feel his accusatory glare as he says, “But what about NYADA?” and she shrugs, crossing her arms over her chest. “Tell me you’re not turning down the chance to audition _as a finalist_ for an amazing school that could open every door you could possibly need open for your future,” Kurt says. “Tell me you’re not letting that go so you can get married to him.” He shakes his head a few times. “This is insanity!”

“I’m not…” She swallows and it hurts a little. “What if I don’t get in?” she asks. “What if I go out there and choke? I’ll be stuck in Lima, Kurt. I’ll have blown my one chance to get out of this place.”

“Rachel, you are amazing!” Kurt tells her, turning her around with his hands on her upper arms. She can feel the engagement ring digging into the soft skin of her upper arm. “You’re so, so talented. All of your dreams are going to come true! Why are you settling for this?”

She looks at him and he might be on the verge of tears, but at least he doesn’t look as angry as he’d sounded a minute ago.

“Finn…” She takes another deep breath. “He supports me. He loves me and he’ll continue to love me even if I’m nothing. Nobody. Finn wants to spend the rest of his life with me, even though I may end up…flipping burgers at McDonald’s.”

Kurt lets go of her and looks away.

“And, I just…Everything used to be so sure, you know?” She sighs. “I knew that one day I was going to go to New York and have this…a-amazing break and everyone would know me and know my voice and…it would be…perfect. But…life isn’t…it isn’t black and white and everyone I know has a plan and they’re making things happen and now, when I look into my future, I just see…I just see black.”

He’s still not looking at her, but she continues.

“Kurt…I am a good performer, but…there are so many people out there who are _better_ ,” she tells him, surprised by the fact that her voice remains, for the most part, steady. “And, yes, I’ve dreamed of being on Broadway for as long as I can remember, but…at the end of the day, that’s all it is—a dream. I _will_ try to make it happen, but…if I fail…” She shrugs, looking like she’s at a loss. “At least I’ll have one person in my life who will love me anyway.”

They sit there in silence for a few minutes, and then Kurt places an arm around her shoulder and draws her into his side.

“What if it’s a mistake?’ he asks her. “What if you marry him only to find out that you made the wrong choice?”

Rachel leans her head against his shoulder and bites her lip, her mind on that night in Novemeber when she’d kissed Quinn in the foyer of her house—things like; what dress she’d been wearing and how soft the material of Quinn’s t-shirt had been when she’d pinched it between her fingers, how Quinn had been wearing chap stick at the time.

She wonders how Quinn’s hair will look against the contrasting snow in New Haven in a year—how she’ll probably have forgotten why she dated boys like Puck and Finn, how she’ll probably scoff and wonder why she ever wasted time and effort on a girl like Rachel Berry at all.

“I don’t think it’s the wrong choice,” she whispers. “The scary part was just…choosing to know it.”

Kurt holds her for a while before he leaves.

When he’s gone, when the door is shut behind him, she stares at the ring for a while and then she slips it onto her finger.

.

Monday is quiet and empty.

Finn walks her to every class.

For some reason, Rachel almost feels that Quinn knows what she’s hiding under her dress and shirt collars—can practically sense that there’s an engagement ring, worn as a pendant, hanging there.

But that’s ridiculous, Rachel thinks, and pushes the thought back.

.

Finn finds her on Tuesday before school starts.

“So, Kurt knows,” he says and she stops pulling books from her locker to look at him. “He sort of cornered me during weight lifting yesterday.”

Rachel frowns. “Yeah, I…um…I’m not surprised.”

“Can I ask you something?”

She closes her locker and nods.

“This…engagement…my proposing and you saying yes…Kurt said that he thought it was us…you know, giving up on ourselves.”

“That’s not a question,” she point sout softly and he nods like he’s getting to it.

“Do you think that’s what it is?”

If she was being honest, truly, the answer would have to be yes.

But that’s not the main part of it, she thinks. Probably.

She counters the question with, “Do _you_ think it is?”

It’s his turn to frown. “I asked you first,” he says. “Are you giving up on yourself, Rachel?”

She wants to say that, no, she’s not.

That she just wants someone to support her awlways, to remind her that she can be better than nothing even if her dreams don’t come true.

But she can’t even though she wants to.

And, in terms of support—despite his consistency being marginally better—he’s still second to Quinn.

Quinn has always done her very best to ensure Rachel knew the future she wanted was attanable. She’s always been there to give her a nudge when she needed it, but she also used to kick her to the ground—metaphorically, of course—and it’s hard to forget something like that.

But Finn is offering to be the person who accepts who she is even if that doesn’t turn out to be the superstar she always wanted it to be.

So she says, “No.”

He doesn’t look like he believes her and she thinks, almost, that it’s ike he’s waiting for something else—for some deeper meaning.

But no more questions come.

She lets him hold her hand when he walks her to class.

.

It’s a little easier after that, but Rachel isn’t exactly sure hwy.

It should be, because Kurt isn’t speaking to her like he used to and Quinn won’t even look at her.

But it still is. Somehow.

Finn tries to make up for it and asks if she’s okay every day.

Her answer is always a solemn and unconvincing, “I’m fine.”

Mr. Schuester stops being the Spanish teacher, for some reason and, instead, switches to teaching World History.

There’s probably a reason for this, but, between missing those three days in a row and not being able to will herself to pay attention, Rachel isn’t sure what it is.

And, honestly, she’s not entirely positive he’s anymore qualified for his new position than he was for his old one.

.

For the first time, Rachel isn’t single for Valentine’s Day.

Part of her almost doesn’t consider herself as _not-single_ this year, but she’s been wearing an engagement ring on a necklace for a week or two, so it definitely counts.

Which is probably good, too, since Sugar is throwing a party that doesn’t allow anyone to come without a date, even though Rachel is certain she won’t be in attendance.

Not because she has better things to do, but because she doesn’t.

.

Rachel spends another weekend locked in her room, lying under the covers and staring at the ceiling.

She should probably be practicing or doing homework, but she can’t bring herself to do anything other than attend family meals at the table downstairs.

On Sunday morning, the doorbell rings and she thinks she hears Finn’s voice, even though she’s not positive.

He might just be checking on her—making sure that she’s okay still—but she doesn’t really want to see him so she waits for the knock on her door with bated breath.

After thirty minutes, it doesn’t come.

And then an hour.

Two hours.

When she goes down for lunch about three hours after, it’s just her dads, setting the table and smiling at her in a way that’s the same, but a bit different if she’s not just imagining it.

She almost asks who it was that came, but decides against it when Hiram says, “Hey, sweetie, wanna sit down?” and Leroy kisses her forehead and pulls out a chair for her to sit in.

.

The next day, she comes home from school to find them both waiting for her in the living room, despite the fact that they’re usually at work.

They meet her, “What are you doing home?” with a, “Sit down, honey,” and she’s pretty sure that she’s in a fair amount of trouble, even though she’s not sure for what.

“We both, um…received interesting phone calls from Burt and Carole Hummel on the telephone this afternoon,” Hiram tells her as she takes a seat on the couch across from them.

There’s a nauseating sink in her gut. “You…Y-you did?”

Leroy nods. “Yes, they…well, they informed us that you and Finn—”

“—are fixing to get hitched,” Hiram cuts his husband off.

Rachel swallows and nods.

“So, you are, then?” Leroy asks.

She nods again.

“Well…” Her dads look at each other, then back at her. “Are you sure about this, honey?”

She’s expecting something—a fight, maybe, and a couple of, ‘We’re not mad, just disappointed’s, and maybe a, ‘not while you live under my roof’—so she’s momentarily caught off guard.

“Yes,” she tells them, unsure. “I am…I’m…um…I’m sure.”

She can’t help it—the words are hard to manage, but she chalks it up to being surprised by their reaction and nothing more.

They stare at her and she’s certain that they aren’t convinced in the slightest.

But, then, they smile and say, “Well, congratulations.”

She’s taken aback, but they don’t really seem to need her to speak, anyway, because Leroy is saying, “If you’re certain that you want to spend the rest of your life with Finn, then the last thing we want to do is stand in your way.”

“No,” Hiram chimes in. “We wouldn’t do that. I mean, marrying in your teens usually, you know, doubles the likelihood of divorce—” He picks up a small notepad from the coffee table in front of him and slips on his glasses to read from it. “—a fate that befell Liza and Barbra…”

Leroy snatches the notepad from his hands. “Are you really going to do this right now?”

Hiram shrugs and his husband gives him an admonishing glare.

“Okay, well, what your father is trying to say is that he’s very excited to start planning his only daughter’s wedding.”

Rachel isn’t sure if she should believe him, but takes the wedding magazines that Hiram hands her.

“And, we will be using the square tables,” he informs her.

She nods and frowns, not quite sure what she’s supposed to say in a situation like this.

She hadn’t really thought about what would happen when her fathers found out about her plans to marry Finn, but, if she had, this would have been the last reaction she would have been prepared for.

“We’d actually like you to invite the Hummel-Hudsons over for a Valentine’s Day dinner here,” Leroy tells her. “Since we’ll be one big family. Let’s make a milestone out of it.”

Rachel fingers the edge of one of the wedding magazines and stares down at the bride on the front.

“Yeah,” she says. “Okay.”

“You were raised to be proud of the decisions that you make,” Hiram says and she takes a deep breath because she’s actually not entirely certain that this _is_ the right decision—she’s just scared.

Scared of being alone, scared of losing someone that loves her, scared of fading into the nothing she’s begun to feel like.

“And, if this is what you really want, sweetie,” he continues, “Well, then, you need to start shouting it from the rooftops.”

To this, she says nothing and, after a brief moment of silence, they get to their feet and she follows suit.

“We love you, honey,” Leroy says as they step closer to hug her.

Rachel nods once more and blinkes a couple of times as she wets her, suddenly dry, lips with the tip of her tongue.

She says, “I love you, too.”

.

Rachel calls Finn an hour after dinner and tells him that her dads know.

He’s silent for a while before he asks how they reacted and she’s quick to tell him that they were supportive.

He says, “That’s good, then,” after a moment and she says, “Yeah,” and then they’re both quiet for a while.

“They want you and your parents to come to dinner on Valentine’s Day,” she tells him and she’s dated him on and off for three years, so she knows from the silence that follows that he’s nodding instead of answering verbally.

“Yeah, okay,” he says after a moment. “I’ll let them know.”

More silence.

Then, “Finn?”

“Yeah?”

“We should probably tell people now.”

A beat.

“Are you sure?”

She doesn’t answer that part because she’s tired of people asking her that question.

Finn, for his part, must understand because he says, “Okay. We can…we can tell them tomorrow, okay?”

She says, “Okay,” and waits for him to hang up.

.

Finn sits beside Rachel in glee rehearsal the next day and they wait for Mr. Schuester to arrive.

He has his arm slung around her chair and she is painfully conscious of the fact that her left knee is shaking as she avoids looking around the room at her teammates.

It’s like a tick—one that used to happen more often before she got so used to performing that stage fright was a thing of the past.

She tries to stop it, but it just continues to bounce up and down.

No one is really paying attention to her, but she can’t help but feela s thought it is, somehow, giving her away. Like people will now be aware of the fact that she’s nervous about something—know that there’s something wrong with her even though there’s nothing wrong with her.

She’s perfectly fine.

Mr Schuester comes in seven minutes late and the first thing he says is, “Finn, you had an announcement?”

Rachel wasn’t expecting this—had no idea that Finn had already informed their teacher of their plans to speak to everyone else.

Finn pulls his arm away and gets to his feet. “Actually, Rachel and I have an announcement.”

He offers his hand to her and she takes it against her better judgment, letting him pull her to the front of the room so that they’re facing the others.

Quinn is in the front row and Rachel refuses to look at her, focusing, instead, on the linoleum beneath her feet.

“Rachel and I just wanted to tell you guys,” Finn begins and he squeezes her hand as he says it, glancing at her before continuing, “That we’re, um…we’re actually getting married.”

Everyone is silent for a second or two, which is closely followed by a chorus of, “What?” and, “Wow!”

From the back of the room, Puck says, “Oh, when’s the baby’s due date?”

“Wait, guys,” Mr. Schuester cuts in. “Have you both carefully thought this through?”

Finally, Rachel finds her voice enough to respond. “Yes, we have. And our parents know already, too.”

“Only because I told them yesterday,” Kurt pipes up, arms crossed solemnly over his chest. “Which I only did because I think you guys are making a mistake.” He pauses for a second. “A _huge_ one.”

Rachel freezes when he says this, not sure what she’s supposed to say in return.

She’d already known where he stood after her last conversation with him. His telling Burt and Carole—who, in turn, told her own fathers—only confirmed that he was against it still.

And then she frowns. _Yesterday_? He would have had to tell Burt and Carole while he was at school in order for them to call her dads so quickly. But that’s—

“When’s the wedding?”

Rachel’s train of thought derails and her eyes find Quinn’s for a moment.

Finn squeezes her hand. “We, um…haven’t decided that yet.

“Well, I have to agree with Kurt,” Quinn says. “You guys aren’t mature enough or old enough to properly face this kind of commitment.”

Rachel feels like she’s suffocating.

She feels like she’s going to throw up.

And she’s certain that her legs are going to fail beneath her weight.

It doesn’t matter anyway, because she doesn’t have to say anything.

Finn tells them that he hopes they’ll change their minds and then they’re sitting back down so Artie can perform.

.

“I didn’t speak up in class, but I wanted to say that I’m one-hundred percent behind you,” Santana says that day when she’s walking with Rachel in the quad.

She’d come to find Rachel once they were released to for their lunch period.

Rachel had been headed towards the bleachers by the football field—thinking that it might be the last place Kurt or Finn would look for her, but Santana had cornered her.

Clearly, she just needed to vent because why else would she come to Rachel of all people?

And Rachel thinks that maybe she gets that—the needing to vent, even though she typically handles her own by just going somewhere we she doesn’t have to talk to anyone—so she just lets her.

“I fully support your right to be unhappy with Finn for the rest of your lives,” Santana continues and Rachel frowns. “You should be able to love whoever you want.”

Rachel’s breath hitches and she glances at the other girl incredulously, wondering if she knows.

She’s just about to open her mouth to ask, but is cut short when Mercedes comes up with a blank-faced Sam, an unhappy Quinn, and some tarantula hippie-looking guy with a guitar.

“Excuse me,” Mercedes cuts in. “Are you Miss Rachel Berry?”

Rachel glances from Mercedes to Sam and, finally, Quinn.

Quinn isn’t looking at her—eyes fixed somewhere towards the roof of the school—and Sam just gives her a little twitch of the lips.

He’s probably mad at her, Rachel thinks, what with the fact that he hasn’t spoken to her, even in their shared classes, over the past few days.

Quinn likely filled him in on what was going on before the announcement Finn made before school started.

“Um, yeah,” Rachel answers.

Quinn now has her arms crossed and Sam is standing beside her with a hand on her shoulder and a frown on his face.

This probably won’t go well.

“Well, we’re the God Squad,” Mercedes explains. “And we’re here to deliver a Vocal Valentine from one Finn Hudson.”

The tarantula kid starts playing his guitar and then they start singing _You Can’t Hurry Love._

For the most part, the main vocals go to Quinn and Rachel just stands there, waiting for it to be over.

She has to lean back against a nearby table to keep standing at one point because she knew that she doesn’t understand the message Finn is trying to send her.

When the song finishes, Quinn stares at her for a moment and then says, “Happy Valentine’s Day, Love Finn,” as the signature to the valentine.

With that, she turns and leads the other three members of the God Squad from the quad and to the school building.

Rachel watches them go and then turns on her heel and heads towards the school, ignoring Santana’s, “Hey, what’s wrong?” as she goes.

.

Finn isn’t in the cafeteria, so she heads to the weight room, where he tends to spend his lunches during football and basketball season.

He’s standing by the free weights with a towel on his shoulder when she enters and he stops when he sees her.

“Hey,” he says, setting down his weights on the rack. “Everything okay?”

She wants to tell him that she’s not okay; that she’s sorry for hurting him and Quinn and everyone. That she’s sorry for being just another girl with big dreams that won’t come true—sorry for dragging him down with her—but also tell him that she doesn’t understand why he’s telling her to slow down when _he_ was the one that proposed.

She can’t quite manage it, though, so she just says, “I got your Vocal Valentine.”

He looks confused and responds with, “My what?”

“The one you had the God Squad perform,” she explains.

“Rachel,” Finn starts. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

His eyes do this thing—just this quick little flicker to the lower right—and then they’re back on hers, looking confused again.

It’s enough to make Rachel think that maybe he knows more than he’s letting on.

But she can’t do this right now.

She nods and says, “Okay.”

And he looks like he’s about seconds away from asking if she’s okay, so she bids him farewell and leaves.

.

It’s a struggle that night to keep herself from calling Mercedes, but Rachel manages to wait to talk to her until the next day.

“Finn says he didn’t send that valentine,” she says when she finds the other girl at her locker before classes start that morning.

“What?” Mercedes puts a book in her locker and glances at Rachel.

“The valentine your club performed,” Rachel says. “The one you said was from him? He says it wasn’t him. So, who sent it?”

Mercedes’s eyebrows lower over her forehead. “If it wasn’t Finn, I don’t know,” she admits.

“Well, who gave you the money and requested the song? You have to know that much, at least.”

“I don’t, I’m sorry.” She shakes her head. “You might try asking Joe Hart, though. The other guy who’s in the club with us? He said it was Finn, but if Finn says it wasn’t him, then I don’t know.”

With that, Mercedes closes her locker and heads away.

Rachel isn’t quite sure what she’s feeling or thinking as she processes this new information in the emptying hallway, but she’s sure that, whatever it is, it’s not good.

.

She spends the rest of the day trying to decide what to do with this anger that’s making her dizzy—trying to figure out why she’s angry in the first place and if she’s even allowed to feel that way.

Mercedes sings _I Will Always Love You_ to Sam that day in glee rehearsal and Rachel feels nauseated—like the melody and beat used to form the emotion behind the lyrics are inside her, rocking her side-to-side.

And then there’s the part where the sound breaks—the crescendo that forces her to stare at her lap and try not to run away.

Sam is apparently fighting the same battle, but he loses and leaves right after Mercedes finishes.

Rachel gets to her feet and follows him without a word, feeling like she needs to find a place to catch her breath.

She finds him down the hall, slouched in a seated position on the floor, back against the lockers.

Rachel sits down beside him without asking for permission.

She reaches out after a moment and grabs his hand and she’s not sure what she’s even doing but people need to have their hand held sometimes.

This is probably one of those times for him—maybe for the both of them.

At any other point in time, she would probably have to say something in order to explain what it is she’s trying to do here. But, right now, it doesn’t seem to be necessary.

Because Sam is sniffling a bit and Rachel is falling apart and both of them wanted things beyond their grasp and were left with their fingers empty.

She squeezes his hand.

Maybe it’s because she’s tired or sad or so far away from feeling like an actual human being.

Whatever it is, her mind is in a weird place and she keeps thinking that this, holding Sam’s hand, is the only thing tethering them to each other, winding them endlessly into the dizzying spiral of this life and these choices and this school and all the things that fill gaps between those things—between the dirty linoleum floors and combination locks and white boards and ceiling tiles.

Rachel runs her thumb over the blue veins on the back of his hand and she’s not looking at him, but she can feel his eyes on her engagement ring.

“Is that why you cut Quinn out?” he asks, his words slicing the silence into ribbons. “Because she reminded you of cheating on Finn?”

Rachel isn’t exactly sure where this is coming from, but she assumes that Mercedes must have given that as the reason she couldn’t be with him.

She finds her voice and, “No, it wasn’t like that.”

He sniffs again.

“Not entirely anyway.”

“Why, then?”

Because she’s a masochist, apparently, and gets some cheap thrill from all these mistakes and painful choices that lead to a pair of desperate eyes and cut-off sentences.

And she knows that she did it for a reason—something about her being an anchor or a sinking boat. Something with drowning imagery, but Sam is heartbroken and she’s starting to think she is, too, so she can’t quite recall.

But, still, there was a reason and she hangs onto that fact alone—that those mistakes that weren’t really mistakes led to a decision that is better for everyone, that they fill some of those endless gaps between things.

In the end, she says, “Because Quinn deserved better,” and pulls him to his feet, taking a step back as he steadies himself.

He walks with her a few steps down the hallway, still hanging onto her hand and then he releases it as he turns.

She resists the urge to watch him go.

.

Finn, Burt, and Carole come over that Friday for dinner.

Rachel sits beside her fiancé while they eat and she expected it to be awkward, but, for some reason, it isn’t.

The conversation is light until Hiram says something about “teenage love-making.”

She thinks it’s a mistake until he says it twice, then she has to cut in with, “I’m sorry, what?”

They explain that Finn will be spending the night and that they consider them to be adults and Rachel isn’t sure that she believes them.

She waits for the other shoe to drop, for the punch line, for anything other than them being serious about this, but it never comes.

The unitilized awkwardness and pressure of the situation—that could easily be dismantled and depleted by a laugh from one of her fathers or someone saying, “Just kidding!”—settles onto Rachel’s shoulders along with its companions and stragglers from the last few weeks.

She sinks further into her seat from the weight of it.

Eventually, she makes her way upstairs—once Carole and Burt leave—and Finn follows her to her bedrom.

They sit on the bed silently, each of them waiting for the other to speak.

“This is weird,” Finn finally says after a little while.

Rachel nods in agreement.

“Do your dads…do they think we’ve… _you know_ …?”

She knows what he’s hinting at and she bites her lip, looking down at her shoes against the carpet on the floor. “I mean, we’re planning on getting married and spending the rest of our lives together,” she reminds him. “They probably assumed.”

He bobs his head a couple of times and she’s not expecting what he says next.

“Do you miss her?”

Her fingers tighten around the edge of her bed and she’s silent for a long moment, and then she takes a deep breath before nodding and glancing at him with frightened eyes.

She’s being honest, at least. She’s trying to be.

“Do you regret it?” Finn asks then, clearly understanding that he’s hit a rare, complete honesty streak.

She wants to tell him, yes, absolutely, because she regrets it in terms of hurting him.

But then there’s Quinn’s eyes and the quiet way she’d laid with her head on Rachel’s lap when she was trying to find a song to sing for Artie.

There’s the fact that the last time they kissed, Rachel was still uneasy about her—uneasy about the idea of _them_ —and the last time they’d—

The last time they’d been intimate was right before Quinn called it quits, after pinning her to the bed with firm hands and steady movements.

So, she starts to say, “I—” but cuts herself off when she realizes that she doesn’t really have an answer for him.

When she’s finally able to look at him, nothing has really changed about the way he looks at her.

Nothing but the way resignation now highlights the light brown tint to his eyes.

“Okay,” he says and then they just sit there in silence.

.

Eventually, Finn suggests that they go to Sugar’s party.

It’s something to do and Rachel needs something to make her feel like she isn’t suffocating—something that feels normal.

She agrees.

Finn excuses himself to use the restroom and she tells him that she’ll meet him downstairs.

When she heads down the stairs, though, her fathers are in the kitchen and she can just barely hear their conversation when she stops walking and stands by the doorway, pressing her back into the wall and tilting her head as if to give her ear a better angle at which to eavesdrop.

Hiram is saying, “—never lied to her like this before. Honesty, respect, dance—those are the foundations of the Berry family.”

“These are desperate times,” Leroy responds. “Every teenager does the exact opposite of what their parents tell them.”

Suddenly, it makes sense why they’re so supportive of the wedding—they’re trying to make her see that she’s making a mistake.

As quietly as she can, Rachel leans a bit closer and she really hates them in that moment.

They become members of the endless blur of faces who don’t believe she could ever stray from the path she’d set for herself her entire life or do anything radical or unexpected.

They don’t understand that she needed to do _something,_ needed to have someone who never pushed her or betrayed her trust.

“She’s not going to go through with this,” Leroy continues from the kitchen. “She’s a little girl with big dreams.”

She can hear Hiram sigh. “I’ll be keeping my fingers crossed, thanks.” He pauses and then, “Are we sure he’s right about this? What if he’s wrong and she really _doesn’t_ —”

“I think we just need to have faith, sweetie,” Leroy cuts in.

Rachel frowns, wondering if it’s Burt they’re talking about or someone else entirely.

Kurt, maybe?

“I just…these past few months with her always off with…with Quinn…do you think…?”

He trails off and the anger leaves Rachel’s chest.

The emotion that forces its way into her throat is unfamiliar, but she’s trying to listen, so she doesn’t question it.

“Yeah, maybe,” Leroy says. “Let’s just…continue doing what we’re doing—lying about supporting it utterly and completely—she’ll come around and she’ll see it our way. It’s reverse psychology.”

Just then, Finn lumbers down the stairs and sees her standing there.

“Did you tell your dads that we’re leaving?” he asks.

She can hear her fathers in the kitchen, shuffling around to make it sound like they’re doing dishes, no doubt.

“Not yet,” she admits.

He leads the way and tells Rachel’s dads that they’re going and she stands behind him, then follows him out the door without saying goodbye.

.

They enter Breadstix just after Blaine has arrived and balloons are falling from the ceiling.

Finn finds them an empty table by the back and takes her coat for her.

Across the room, Quinn is heading towards her own seat and there's a pressure behind Rachel's eyelids that makes her wish she'd stayed home.

"I'm gonna go talk to Kurt," Finn tells her and she nods, which he takes as his cue to go.

Rachel stares at Quinn and pushes some of the heart-shaped confetti on the table around with her fingers.

She's angry at those tiny pieces of foil because she's angry at everything in the world right now, Quinn included.

She's angry at the song Quinn sang under the pretense of it being from Finn.

She's angry that Quinn let her sleep with her.

She's angry that Quinn made her feel these things that have been tearing her apart from the inside out for months now.

But, mostly, she's angry at herself—for breaking too easily, for not fighting for anything, least of all her dreams, and falling to pieces the moment any pressure is involved.

So, it's not the greatest plan in the world, but she gets up from her table, crosses the room, and says, "Can I speak to you for a moment?" before grabbing Quinn's elbow and leading her to the kitchen in the back.

It's empty and they're probably not supposed to be back there, but Rachel thinks that the phrase goes like 'there's no time like the present' or something.

"What?" Quinn asks, crossing her arms and looking angry.

It's a front, Rachel knows. Quinn is not angry—she's hurt. She's just trying to look angry to be intimidating, to seem like she doesn't care at all about anything.

And Rachel isn't really angry either—not really—but she still says, "I'm mad at you," as she attempts to look menacing.

Quinn scoffs. "For what?" she asks.

There's a look in her eyes that Rachel has not seen since their sophomore year, since before Beth and she almost takes a step away.

"For sleeping with you behind my boyfriend's back for months? For breaking up with that boyfriend only to accept his proposal weeks later? For fucking leaving you with some note and a speech and not even explaining myself? Oh, wait." She laughs bitterly and there's nothing funny about it. "That was all you, wasn’t it?"

Rachel knows that she deserved that and more, but she still winces a bit at the harshness of Quinn's language.

"That's not what this is about," Rachel says, trying not to let her voice crack, but the tears are coming. She can feel them.

"Then enlighten me."

The set of Quinn's jaw is fierce and Rachel thinks that this is not the girl who kissed softly with her hand on Rachel's jaw, who, like a child, threw candy at her sleeping mother.

This is the Quinn that existed before she got pregnant. This is the pretend Quinn everyone else used to know, respect, and fear.

Any argument Rachel had any intention of picking slips off the tip of her tongue.

Quinn is the one who got the short end of the stick here.

She may have been part of the dynamic duo that hurt Finn, but Rachel is getting married to him. Rachel is choosing him.

Quinn hasn't gained anything from this.

The pressure from before is spreading from behind Rachel's eyes and all over her body, making her joints and bones ache. She closes her eyes because she can't bring herself to look at Quinn and, instead of finding only darkness behind her lids, there's something else—like a curtain she can't quite find the edge of so she can pull it back.

"What do you want from me, Rachel?"

Rachel opens her eyes and says, "I don't know."

Her eyes roam over Quinn's face like she's expecting a map to suddenly appear on it, to show her the way, show her where to go and what to say.

It's eerily quiet, which only contrasts with all of the words spinning in her head.

"I think I get it, Rachel," Quinn says after a moment. "You're scared. Am I right?" Rachel says nothing and Quinn looks at her humorlessly. "But we all are. Every single person that you will be graduating with in a few months is absolutely terrified of the future. Did you think you were special or different because you have no idea what the hell you'll do if your dreams don't come true?"

Rachel looks away.

"So, what? You marry Finn to have someone on your side of the court in case things go south under the pretense of setting me free to live my own life? You pledge yourself in your entirety to a boy you've spent almost the entire school year _cheating on_? That is so…so wrong, Rachel."

Rachel looks at the other girl and remembers the time before she met the real Quinn—when she'd only ever known Quinn's pale bruises on her skin from the cruel fists of time and life's disappointments.

It almost hurts to remember that time before she uncovered those deeper layers—before she understood that Quinn's social persona was meant to hide those softer, fragile parts.

But now Rachel knows that she's added cuts to those parts, the lower layers. And if she keeps it up like this, no amount of scar tissue will be able to close them completely.

If she weren't trying to be selfless, a wholly unattached person who wants only the best for this girl in front of her, she might throw the engagement ring into the trash can by the sink and pull Quinn into her arms and kiss her, kiss her, kiss her.

"What changed, Rachel? What made you go from happy with the way things were one moment to engaged to your ex-boyfriend the next?"

Softly, Rachel says, "You."

It's met with, "What?"

"Those things you did to me, Quinn," Rachel explains, finally looking up and meeting Quinn's eyes. "The names and the slushies. The drawings. All of it."

There's a look on Quinn's face, a brief flash of hurt—the girl who held Rachel in her arms and kissed her bare shoulder.

And then it's gone and the cold, hard Quinn is narrowing her eyes.

"You expect me to believe that you were perfectly fine with it for _months—_ all those things and more—and you were perfectly okay with cheating on your boyfriend with me, and then, what? It suddenly became too much? Bullshit."

Rachel, for her part, neither confirms nor denies this.

"Why would have slept with me if it bothered you? Why would you have even…have even _considered_ it?" she asks, but Rachel is at as much of a loss as she is. "No. Because what really happened is that you had come to terms with me—the fact that I changed and I wasn't going to hurt you. You accepted it and made peace with it. And then something reminded you. Something made you doubt that decision. Am I right?"

Rachel glances at Quinn, then looks down and plays with her engagement ring.

"Finn," Quinn says quietly.

There's a note of finality in the word.

Quinn's arms uncross and she looks away and shakes her head.

"That…that… _oaf_ made you think you couldn't believe me. Which only led to you wondering if you could even believe in yourself, right? About the things you were going to accomplish. He made you doubt yourself."

She's not wrong, even if Finn hadn't meant to do it, even if he'd been looking out for Rachel and trying to ensure that she wouldn't get hurt.

So, Rachel goes to defend him, but Quinn cuts her off.

"No, Rachel. I don't want to hear you sing his praises. I'm sick of it. He made you doubt yourself. He made you feel like you can't trust me, so I guess you won't believe a word I'm even saying." Quinn scoffs again.

If she's waiting for an answer, she doesn't get one and Rachel knows from the look on her face that the silence between them is the last straw.

"Fine," Quinn says. "Whatever. Do whatever. Marry whoever the fuck you want."

She turns and pushes her way back out into the party.

It takes a while for Rachel to build up enough nerve to follow her and Finn finds her in five seconds flat, asking if she's okay.

She looks around in vain for a moment or two, but Quinn is long gone.

"No," she answers, because she's trying to be more honest. "Can you just…take me home, please?"

Finn nods and does just that.

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i tried to warn you.
> 
> songs used were:
> 
> "I Will Always Love You" by Whitney Houston
> 
> "You Can't Hurry Love" by The Supremes


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> takes place during "On My Way" in season three and focuses on Finn mostly.
> 
> mistakes are mine.

…

_February 26th, 2012_

_.._

At some point—after Rachel stops crying, after Judy comes in and sits across from her uninjured daughter, the one that's whole and breathing without needing help—the people who, early in the morning left to sleep, start filtering back in.

Finn and Kurt are some of the first to arrive and Kurt kisses Rachel's cheek, then sits in the corner of the room with his stepbrother, who is studying his hands.

For a brief moment, Rachel considers going to speak with him, but doesn't quite trust her voice. So, instead, she fishes her engagement ring out of the pocket of her— _Quinn's_ —hoodie and presses it into the palm of Sam's hand.

He looks over at her and frowns.

"Can you go give that to him?" she asks, because she's been able to talk to Sam, but few others. "I forgot to give it back last night."

He nods and gets to his feet, wiping his free hand on his black suit pants before crossing the room to the other boy.

Frannie stiffens at Rachel's words in a way that makes Rachel think she must know what’s going on, or at least suspect.

Sam makes it over to Finn and some quiet words that Rachel can't quite hear are exchanged, then he hands the ring over. Finn takes it and, when Sam is heading back to his chair, he meets Rachel's eyes and gives her a solemn nod.

She returns it and then looks away.

Sam has only been sitting down for a minute or two when a doctor—the one from before—comes into the room, looks around and then heads straight for Judy.

She gets to her feet and listens to him speak, a look that appears to be undiluted elation crossing her face. She clasps the doctor on the forearm and thanks him rather loudly and he smiles and leaves.

When he's gone, she turns and looks around at the others.

Everyone is waiting.

Everyone is on the edge of their seat.

"She, um…" Her voice breaks and Frannie is half-standing as she waits for her mother to finish. "Quinn is…"

"She's what?" Frannie pushes when her mother trails off, and everyone is thankful for it because, even though it's unlikely, it could be bad news, but it's probably amazing news and they're all tired of waiting.

Judy grins and she's crying again, but they seem to be happy tears.

"Quinn's awake."

..

_February 20th, 2012_

.

Finn doesn't know exactly what happened at Sugar's party, but when Quinn isn't in school Monday, he's not exactly surprised.

Santana is, though, and she says as much when they're all sitting together for lunch.

Rachel is somewhere else, like she usually is during this period—probably practicing or something.

Finn doesn't know.

And he hasn't really talked to her since she told him about Sebastian's threat earlier.

She’s been off since the party, too, actually.

Since the Vocal Valentine he sent and then lied about—which he’s now starting to regret, especially because of how hurt and confused she’d seemed when she’d confronted him.

He hadn’t meant to hurt her—he just wanted to plant the seed that, maybe, she was doing something dumb by agreeing to marry him and that she shouldn’t hurry it.

And, okay, he’d been using the fact that Quinn was in the club and would probably be singing part of it to her. That was probably unfair, too.

Now that he thinks about it, the whole thing might have come off a little differently if Quinn _did_ sing certain parts of it.

Like Quinn planned it instead.

Maybe that’s why Rachel had been so upset.

"I mean, she only misses school when she's real sick," Santana is saying as she swirls her baby carrot in the ranch filling one of the squares of her tray. "Like that Friday before the play, remember?"

Finn does remember, actually.

He remembers how distant Rachel had been that day, how she'd been jumpy and weird. When he'd asked, she'd written it off as nerves, and he'd had a football game and the recruiter to worry about.

He hadn't asked many questions.

But now that he thinks about it, something must have been up with Quinn missing and Rachel acting strangely. And Rachel had said something about her thing with Quinn beginning in November.

The thought makes his stomach do this weird churning thing and he stabs his spork through the Styrofoam of his tray.

"Maybe she has what Tina had last week?" Mike suggests, sipping some of his milk.

Artie nods, looking deadly serious. "I hear it's going around," he informs them and Finn always hated conversations like this—where that phrase is used to instill fear and panic about a strain of the flu or the common cold when, in reality, almost no one will get it.

"Yeah, maybe," Santana says, chewing loudly enough to be considered impolite. "Hope she gets better soon, though. Regionals and shit."

Kurt is staring at his stepbrother as Finn rips away some of the Styrofoam and tosses it into the glob of ketchup by his fries.

.

As much as he would love to blame her for the drastic downhill slope that his and Rachel’s relationship is heading down, Finn knows that Quinn is not a bad person.

He’s been hurt by her, sure, and part of him will always be more than a little cautious when it comes to ber because of that.

And, yeah, maybe he should be more confused about the strange mixture of guilt and annoyance that he feels when he spots Rachel staring at Quinn when they pass each other in the hall the next day.

He should feel angry that it’s come to this—that he’s just some passing love interest that’s only there to cause more turmoil between the star-crossed lovers.

But he’s not.

Angry, that is.

Because the worst part of the whole thing is that this isn’t completely Quinn’s fault.

When Rachel first told him, he’d blamed her, yeah. Okay.

He’d told himself that she was just out to break Rachel’s and his hearts one last time before graduation.

But that’s not true. He gets that now.

So, when he’d overheard her conversation with Sam the week after Rachel said yes—the week Rachel had missed most of—he’d mostly felt sympathetic towards her.

He’d felt guilty that Sam was leaned over towards her seat in the choir room, quietly asking, “What does that mean, though?”

And Quinn had looked at him with empty eyes and said, “It means that…it’s over, I guess…She’s choosing…”

Her eyes had flickered over then, towards Finn and he’d glanced away in order to pretend he wasn’t listening.

Probably, she saw him.

He’s not exactly subtle.

But there was a look in her eyes that made something that felt equivalent to a knife twist in his chest.

Because, in that moment, it became so painfully clear why she was doing this with Rachel.

It became clear how she felt.

And that was the worst part.

His head is on a loop these days—the same images playing over and over; down on one knee, the ring box thrust outwards, Rachel saying, _I’m sleeping with Quinn_.

Rachel is passing him in the hall now, her head hung low, and the blood is pounding at his temples.

He hadn’t been planning on accepting her ‘yes’ when it came, even though it was everything he’d been waiting to hear.

The plan was to calmly put this whole thing to rest because, yeah, he _did_ want to marry Rachel, even if Kurt and a whole slew of others had voiced their own concerns about it. He’d wanted to spend the rest of his life with her and maybe he still does.

But not like this.

Not when she’s staring after his ex-girlfriend like that and not even meeting his eyes.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Rachel is not the kind of person to sleep with someone she couldn’t fall in love with, or was already in love with a little bit.

And she’s been doing that for months—sleeping with Quinn.

Finn doesn’t know the details, isn’t even sure he wants to. But that alone is enough.

And maybe Quinn _did_ hurt him once or twice.

But Finn knows too well what it’s like to be imperfect and he’s probably done enough to qualify him as the worse person here.

Quinn, he thinks as he watches her turn the corner up ahead, is just a good person who has made some mistakes in the past.

She’s not what he wanted her to be and he can almost bring himself to hate her for being better than that—than what he thought.

She was strong enough to get through all that stuff life threw at her, intact and headstrong as ever.

She was strong enough to keep picking herself up and acting like she hadn’t had to do it at all.

She was brave even though, at a glance, she didn’t appear to have any reason to be.

And now she’s dealing with this, too—with having slept with someone who didn’t choose her.

Someone who chose someone she doesn’t particularly like.

He can't imagine how rough that is.

And, yesterday, Dave Karofsky tried to kill himself.

He must have been in a really dark place to do so and it terrifies Finn to think that she may be in a position where she thinks of that as an option.

Quinn turns into her classroom a few feet ahead.

Finn looks in the room when he passes it and, he's not certain, but he thinks she looks at him and quickly glances away.

He’s doing the right thing, he thinks when he slides into his own classroom a few moments later.

This is what has to be done.

.

Finn finds Rachel after the next class and apologizes for the way he reacted the day before.

Instead of offering any words of forgiveness, she shrugs and lets him hug her.

Her eyes move to the other side of the hall, where Sam is talking to Quinn with a serious expression on his face, as he leans against a nearby locker.

"You should talk to her," Finn tells Rachel because he's thinking about Karofsky and wondering what it would take to push someone to that point. "Seriously, Rachel. Go talk to her."

Rachel shakes her head and says, "I don't even know what I would say." She lets out a huff of air and bites her lip. "I've ruined everything."

Finn wonders if Rachel remembers that they're engaged—that she's talking to her fiancé about the girl she cheated on him with. He almost smiles at how ridiculous it is and it should probably hurt, but it doesn't for some reason.

That's probably one of the first signs.

.

Finn would very much like to believe that he is not stupid, though there are likely people he knows that would beg to differ.

Sure, he can't get 100% on a geometry test and sure he can't fill out the names of the states correctly on a blank map.

And, okay, he's desperate, naïve, childish, vindictive, and foolish.

The list goes on.

He knows that much.

But he would like to think that he isn't stupid.

When Rachel had told him what was going on with her and Quinn, he’d started to understand things.

Like the fact that the way Quinn looks at Rachel—the way he’s only since noticed—is not new.

She’s been doing that for years and he’s only just now seen it, is just now understanding.

He's beginning to get that Rachel has been grasping at him like he's a lifeline—that this is why she said yes to his proposal in the first place.

Rachel never wanted to marry him.

He understood that the moment she agreed to.

And, in realizing that, he’d come to terms with the fact that Kurt was right—that lifelong commitment isn’t something that he and Rachel have inside of themselves to offer to anyone right now.

This, in turn, led to him realizing that, even if Rachel _were_ ready for something like that, he is not the person that deserves that way.

Finn understands that he probably never was.

Still, even though he knows that Quinn loves his fiancée and that his fiancée probably loves her back, it's hard to let go of her, to do this.

Because he'd always bonded with Rachel over their elaborate dreams for the future. But then, after everything with the recruiter and his father, his dreams had pretty much fallen apart like rotten wood.

He thought that the only thing that wasn't falling apart was her.

When he'd talked to her—when she'd asked why he wanted to marry her—he'd told her that he no longer had dreams that didn't include her, and part of that was true.

Except that Rachel has long since given up on her own dreams.

Including him.

So, when he’d quickly darted his eyes away from Quinn and Sam that day a couple of weeks ago, he’d finally understood that this relationship, that his relationship with Rachel, for the most part, is entirely in their heads—where words like “too” and “young” and “ridiculous” are undefined and unused.

Where a triangle is just a shape and not an absolutely heartbreaking disaster that's been going on for years—one that he has always been on the wrong side of.

Where it's just three line segments that begin and end all on their own, connecting points together and nothing more.

.

That evening, when he knows that Rachel is at the hospital with Kurt, visiting Karofksy, Finn drives himself over to the Berry's house.

Her fathers welcome him in with solemn expressions.

It’s a far cry from the surprise that had been evident when he’d first showed up the Sunday before Valentine’s Day and told them about his plan, begging them to pretend it was his parents who informed them about the “wedding”.

“How is it going?” Leroy asks, when they have him sitting in their living room. “Has she shown any signs of backing down?”

Finn shrugs. “Not really. She’s so stubborn.”

Rachel’s dads nod in agreement.

“I’m sure she will,” Leroy says.

Hiram frowns. “Or she won’t and her and Finn will _actually_ be husband and wife.”

“No,” Finn cuts in. “It wouldn’t go that far. I think…I think she’s getting there, but I had an idea.”

They look at each other warily and it’s similar to the look they’d shared when Finn had told them that the jig was up—that the elaborate fantasy he’d been practically dragging Rachel into for years, the one he’s spent so much time building, was finally destroyed.

That he knew it was because he’d been the one holding the sledgehammer that broke it apart, even if his reflection had looked a lot like Quinn in the pieces that shattered.

At the time, he’d almost told them that he hadn’t properly understood what would happen when he went out on a limb, proposing, and tried to make that fantasy a reality, or that he got now that triangles are all drastic angles and rough edges and one point is always pushed as far from the other two as it can get.

He’d almost told them that he’s that point.

Instead, he’d told them that Rachel is, “probably in love with someone else,” and the shock on their faces had been more than evident.

They hadn’t asked who it was—clearly having understood from his tone that there were a handful of things that would be left unsaid by the end of the conversation, and the details on how he knew that bit of information was among them.

“Has the, um, the person in question…has Rachel been…?” Hiram asks.

It’s stuttered and confusing, this question, but, for the most part, Finn thinks he understands what’s being asked.

He bites his lip for a second. “Rachel’s just been kind of out of it. She’s just…so goddamn stubborn.”

They don’t scold him for this language, but they do crack small, sad smiles.

“That’s our baby,” Leroy says, and he looks like he may cry.

When he’d first dropped by, they’d seemed confused about why Finn didn’t just tell her that he wouldn’t be marrying her, but he’d tried to explain how immovable Rachel is when she sets her mind to something.

He’d tried to tell them that he just wanted her, _both_ of them, to be happy and, in order for that to happen, Rachel needed to come to terms with her feelings on her own time.

It’s not something he can do for her.

But he can absolutely give her a nudge.

“What’s your plan?” Hiram asks.

Finn sighs. “That’s the fun part,” he answers and the men across from him exchange another worried glance.

He would very much like to believe he is not stupid, but he has a plan.

It’s not the best idea, and it may not work, considering how stubborn Rachel has been thus far, but it’s definitely worth a shot.

Because Quinn— _Rachel_ —deserves to be happy.

.

The first time Finn saw Rachel Berry was a few weeks into his freshman year.

That is, _really_ saw her.

They'd gone to the same middle school, so he'd seen her around, but he'd never spoken to her. Despite it's impressive breadth, she was somehow outside his circle of friends. She didn't play a sport, she didn't date anyone who played a sport, and she didn't dress particularly well.

That made her an outsider.

So, okay, he'd seen her and everything—ignored her for the most part. Chuckled along whenever someone he _was_ friends with made a comment about her sweaters or hair.

He isn't particularly proud of that time in his life.

But, anyway. That September of his freshman year, sometime after he'd begun to walk Quinn, who was still new and beautiful and intimidating, to class, he saw her. Actually, it was Quinn who brought attention to her.

"Who's that?" she asked, nodding at Rachel who shared their World History class and always sat at the front.

He had been sharing a desk with Quinn in the back because she always let him borrow her notes and explained stuff he didn't understand.

"Rachel," he'd told her. "Berry, I think," because he wasn't sure at that point.

Class hadn't begun yet and people were still filtering in. A few of them greeted the two of them, sitting side-by-side in the back, and Finn had smiled wide because _Quinn Fabray_ was sitting next to him.

"Why?" he'd asked, when Quinn was quiet for a few moments.

He watched her and she shrugged, doodling on the edge of her notebook. "She seems lonely, that's all."

He hadn't understood it at the time because Rachel was sitting with her legs crossed, twirling her hair with her pen and waiting for class to start. She seemed perfectly fine. He didn't grasp how Quinn could have gotten that just by looking at her.

But he thinks he gets it, right now—as he walks towards Rachel at her locker.

She may be older, somewhat wiser, and a little more socially confident, but if Finn squints and tilts his head to the side a little, she's still that girl sitting at the front of his World History class.

And he thinks now that there's probably a reason why Quinn could take one look at Rachel and know that something was missing from the seemingly happy girl's life.

She'd only been going to school with them for a few weeks and she'd figured out Rachel in five minutes flat, whereas Finn has dated her on and off for three years and known her since kindergarten. Honestly, he still doesn't fully understand her.

And there's probably a reason for that, for why he's never been able to read her as well as Quinn has.

So, he says, "We should get married after Regionals," when he comes to stand beside her.

She freezes and slams her locker shut and he's expecting her to turn and look at him, but, instead, she just stands there.

"W-Wh…" She clears her throat and Finn is vaguely reminded of her father. "What did you just say?"

Finn shrugs and shifts his backup up higher on his shoulder. "Life is short, Rachel. And we wanna get married, right?" She's just staring at him and she doesn't answer and that's the answer he wanted, anyway. That's the proof that she doesn't. "Let's get married after we win Regionals on Saturday."

She turns, stares at him, and just blinks.

And then she opens her mouth and closes it again.

For a moment, she's silent and then she says, "F-Finn, are you…are you sure?"

"Yeah," he says, without hesitating. He'd planned out his words the day before. "I'm sure."

She searches his face for a sign that what he's saying is a lie, but he tries not to give anything away.

"Okay," she agrees finally, but he's not stupid and he knows that there's hesitation in her voice. "Saturday."

.

Mr. Schuester holds glee rehearsal on the stage in the auditorium that day and begs them to never let themselves get to that place Karofsky was in.

Rachel is stiff beside him and he knows that she is carefully thinking through what she can say that will be true and heartfelt at the same time.

He ends up saying something about his dad because it works and he means it on some levels, but mostly he's trying to play it safe. And Quinn won't look at him and he is kind of looking forward to a time when she'll be able to and he'll feel he deserved it.

He feels Rachel's reassuring hand, heavy on his knee and he almost brings himself to smile at her.

But he doesn't quite manage it because Quinn is saying, "I'm looking forward to graduating Yale at the top of my class," and Rachel's eyes are on her and not him.

He's surprised when he only minds a little—even when it happens again just a few moments later, right after Rachel says her piece.

But the second one is different, he notices, because the second is where Quinn smiles back.

.

Rachel’s mom is his chemistry sub the next day.

It’s awkward, at best, because she tries to make too jokes about moles and she keeps shooting Finn this look like him being with her daughter makes him automatically on her side—like she needs him to laugh so others will.

He does it—laughing, that is—even though he doesn’t understand the jokes.

Once the bell rings, he rushes out of the room because he doesn’t want to get stuck talking to her.

She’s always intimidated him and he’s, maybe, a little worried that he might spill the beans if she so much as says goodbye.

As quick and effective as his exit is, though, it’s found to be worthless when he gets to his locker and realizes that he forgot his backpack and the rest of his books at his desk.

So, with a sigh, he turns on his heel and marches back to the classroom to retrieve his things.

He’s halfway in the room when he spots Rachel just inside the door, standing by where Shelby is leaned against the desk and talking softly.

It’s probably not nice to eavesdrop, but he also can’t help it, so he quickly pulls back and presses himself to the lockers by the door, straining to hear what they’re saying.

“I mean, wow,” Shelby is saying softly. “I can’t say I’m not surprised, but…Are you sure this is what you want?”

There’s silence for a bit and then Rachel says, “I mean, Finn loves me and…yeah…Yeah, this is what I want.”

He thinks Shelby sighs. “What does Quinn think about this?”

He doesn’t realize that his fists are clenched together until that moment, when the ache of pressure to his knuckles and palm make him exhale and unfurl his hands.

“Sh-she…She actually told me off in the bridal salon last night.”

Finn frowns.

He hadn’t known about that.

Well, he’d known that Rachel planned to go and get the other glee girls’—as well as her own—dresses, but, when he’d asked before school started, she’d said it was a relatively boring affair.

“What did…” Shelby clears her throat. “What did she say exactly?”

“A lot of things, actually. But—”

“Dude, move.”

Finn looks up to see a guy he’s never talked to staring at him rudely and gesturing to one of the lockers he’s blocking.

“I wanna go home,” the kid says and Finn frowns at him, frustrated that he’s missing part of the conversation.

Still, he moves out of the way and just flattens himself along the outer edge of lockers, just by the door, in time to hear Shelby say, “Will she be there on Saturday?”

“No, I, um…I revoked her invitation, actually.”

“Rachel,” Shelby says, sounding a bit like she’s scolding her.

“I…This is what I’m doing, okay? I know that…that she and Kurt and-and _you_ don’t agree with it—”

“Rachel, I—”

“—but I’m marrying Finn this Friday and that is final. My word is my bond.”

“Rachel, there should be other reasons to marry him. Is that why you’re doing this? Because you said you would? You made it sound like you and Quinn were—That is, I thought—”

“Well, you thought wrong,” Rachel says.

She sounds angry and then she comes barreling towards the door.

Finn just barely has time to slide over in front of the lockers and look nonchalant—leaned up against them with his hands shoved into his pockets—before she passes.

He looks up to offer some excuse as to why he’s lurking outside her mother’s temporary classroom, but she doesn’t even see him as she passes by, heading for the main doors.

He watches her go and then Shelby comes out a few moments later, looking just as bad as Rachel had.

Like her daughter, she doesn’t see him standing there, but she also doesn’t head in the same direction.

Instead, she heads towards the teachers’ lounge and it’s only when she’s gone that Finn slips into the classroom to get his things.

.

If he's being honest, Finn has been entirely accidental and indecisive about his life, like everything that's ever happened to him is a tumble, a random happenstance.

He'd never known his dad and never learned much because his mother usually couldn't talk about him without crying. Consequently, he spent his childhood toddling after her, waiting for her to drop the phrase, "your dad."

Information on the man who helped make him came in pieces.

He was twelve when he found out that his father played football all the way through high school. So he joined the Jr. Titans football team when he was in seventh grade on a whim.

He ended up following the sport all the way to high school, hoping that it might help him figure out what he wanted to do—what his dad would want him to do with his life.

It didn't help much, though, and now he's only a few months away from graduating and he still has no real clue what he wants to do or how to begin figuring out what he wants to do.

Like losing his virginity to Santana and loving Rachel, most of his life has been a fluke.

Even joining glee club wasn't something he controlled. He'd only done it because he was terrified of disappointing his mother with endless detentions and drug allegations.

The last thing he was expecting when he'd shown up on that stage for the first time was fate finally taking hold of him and saying, _here's Rachel Berry, you're going to think she's the love of your life for a while, she's going to fall in love with your current girlfriend a few years from now, do you mind pining after her and making some hard decisions when that happens?_

"Finn," Mr. Schuester says, when they're standing in the show circle before they perform. "You wanted to start us off?"

But those hard decisions are something tangible—something he can finally control.

"Yeah." He nods and looks across the circle at Quinn, who is straightening the shoulder straps of her dress. "I know it's kind of short notice, but, after the competition—" He looks down at Rachel who is staring at her feet. "—Rachel and I are going to get married."

There are a few gasps and he's not sure, because he's not looking, but he thinks that everyone is staring at him and standing up a little straighter. "At the Justice of the Peace at the Lima Municipal Center," he finishes.

He waits for Rachel to say something, but she doesn't.

"So, thanks to those who were supportive," he adds. "And those of you guys who weren't big fans of us getting married, we'd still like you to join us, if you want."

He takes a deep, steady breath, glancing over at Quinn and the way she's staring at Rachel.

She has her lower lip trapped between her teeth and her face is a mixture of fear, confusion, and maybe even—

She must feel him staring, because she looks up at him.

"I know that Rachel—" He stresses her name and stares right at Quinn so that, maybe, she'll understand what he's saying. "—and I would love for you to be there."

A few people cheer, probably out of obligation, and then they start towards the auditorium.

Finn falls back and watches the hesitation in Quinn's steps as she follows Rachel down the hallway.

For a brief moment, he understands that what he's doing is going to work. Rachel is going to choose Quinn over him once it's all over.

Rachel is going to make the right decision.

And he might not be able to control much else in his, or anyone's, life except for the bump in their wedding date or the right amount of pressure to apply in order get Rachel to that realization she needs to come to.

He might not even be able to make Rachel believe in herself or anyone else.

But this, what he's doing, is not an accident. He has it in his power to do the right thing and, that alone, makes it all worthwhile.

.

Their performance is a smorgasbord of Rachel avoiding Finn's attempts at eye contact, copious amounts of staring between her and Quinn between songs, and the occasional dirty look sent his way from the blonde in question.

Still, they're good and there's no real contest.

They win, unsurprisingly, and Finn follows everyone else to the choir room to retrieve coats once Mr. Schuester is holding the trophy and everyone has stopped screaming.

Not far from the room, Becky Jackson comes over and grabs Quinn by the elbow before leading her away. Finn stares after her with a frown on his lips, but continues walking after a moment.

Once everyone has agreed on a time to meet, people start heading to find their cars and families, but Rachel lingers.

Finn asks her if she's ready to go, but she tells him that she needs to go home to get her wedding dress and will be riding to her house with her fathers.

She sits at the piano and hits a few notes absentmindedly. Finn watches her for a few seconds from the doorway.

"I'll see you there, then," he says.

She doesn't look at him, but she nods and he suddenly wants to take her by the shoulders and shake her and say, "Why are you planning to go through with this when you can't even look at me? Why are you even pretending you don't love her? Why are you doing this to her? Why are you doing this _you_?"

Instead, he heads out into the hallway.

He turns the corner and he's barely twenty feet from the exit when he sees Quinn walking towards him.

In her cheerleading uniform.

He's not planning on saying anything because Quinn is so good at reading people and she might know that he's up to something if he does.

So he's just continuing his walk to the exit when Quinn stops walking right in front of him, bringing him to a halt.

Suddenly, he is very aware that they are alone in the hallway.

He can't quite shake the image of two seagulls fighting over a scrap of bread from his mind.

Because he and Quinn are two acute angles in a very obtuse triangle and he wants her to know that he wants her to be happy—that he wants Rachel to be happy. That he's ducking out of the triangle for good, but he can't quite bring himself to say that.

"So, I guess you win, Hudson," Quinn says and Finn almost thinks she's mocking him, but her face is completely void of expression if she is.

Finn has always been slow to pick up what she's talking about, but he manages a, "Huh?"

Even though she hasn't been in the uniform since halfway through the previous year, it's clear that Quinn hasn't forgotten how to channel her frustration and anger through it.

She rolls her eyes. "I guess you got what you always wanted—Rachel Berry is yours forever after today, huh?"

Finn doesn't quite like the way she drawls the word "forever", like he's engaged to her against her will because Rachel had said yes all on her own, even if she'd done it for the wrong reasons.

He doesn't even manage an attempt at denial, though, because Quinn is continuing right on.

She probably planned this out.

"I admire your technique," she's saying. "Frankly, I never thought you'd be able to break her down like you have, but you managed it somehow. Guess she won't be going to New York _ever_ now."

By now, he knows better than to interrupt and he probably deserves what she's saying anyway. So he stands there and takes it.

Quinn smiles and it's so cold Finn almost shivers. She reaches out and pats his arm in a gesture that is typically friendly, but can, at the moment, only be described as resentful.

"C _ongratulations_." She's still smiling and Finn is starting to become terrified that she's going to strangle him or something. "You win. I bow out."

Quinn pulls away and does this little bow thing before she continues walking away.

Finn wants to stop her, make her see that he wasn't being manipulative before—but probably is, now, he guesses, even though he's trying to be better.

He wants Quinn to know that he knows what it's like to love someone so much that you destroy yourself, to find yourself alone in a rut you've made, left wondering if you're tall enough to climb out.

And Rachel isn't a prize to be won, either, and neither of them should think of her as one.

Finn knows that Quinn loves Rachel more than he does, which is a strange thought to think because Finn had never known he was capable of love to the extent he feels it for Rachel.

But Rachel doesn't love him—maybe never did. Maybe it's always been this girl who is more broken than Finn has ever seen her.

So he takes a step forward, towards Quinn, and says, "Hey."

She stops walking and turns to look at him.

"I know you probably hate me or whatever and I know that I probably deserve it, but you should come to the courthouse, okay?" He pauses to let that sink in. "Just…you should…you should come. It'll be worth it."

She looks confused again and that angry look from before has pretty much dissipated.

"What are you talking about?" she asks with just a hint of bitterness.

Finn smiles sadly and he wishes he could tell her everything. Instead he just says, "Trust me, okay?"

Quinn is frowning again and she continues to for a few moments before she nods slowly and unsurely.

"And Rachel's in the choir room," he adds.

She looks more confused than ever, but nods. "Okay."

He smiles and starts walking towards the exit backwards. "I, um…hope to see you there, Quinn," he says, and then he flips around and continues walking.

When he turns to look down the hallway again, Quinn is long gone.

He crosses his fingers on his way out and hopes she finds Rachel.

.

Even when he thought he hated her, Finn has always admired Quinn’s endurance—the way she’s so rarely out of control, despite the hurdles life throws her way time and time again.

He’s never been able to do that—think rationally, form a plan.

He’s always been so bad at connect-the-dots and he supposes this is one of those rare occasions where this is not true.

This situation is different than the others because he'd come to the conclusion all on his own, without any particular help of the verbal or outright kind from others.

He's also never been very good at math, but he's since been able to see that the only thing keeping the problem from being simplified was him—the outlying exponent.

So he leads his mother and stepfather into the courthouse, looking up at the geometric patterns of stone and windows that make it up.

Quinn, he knows now, has probably always loved Rachel. After all the teasing and names and inappropriate drawings, loving her was the next dot, the next logical progression.

A lot of things had managed to break Quinn down over the years, but the only thing that ever remained consistent is the way she looks at Rachel.

Finn misses the bright-eyed girl that had looked surprised and embarrassed when he'd asked her to be his date for their freshman homecoming dance.

He misses the girl that would frown to keep from smiling at something that she didn't want others to know she thought was funny.

He misses the hope she used to have in her eyes—even if it was usually only a slight glimmer.

So, no. He does not hate Quinn. Now that he thinks about it, he doesn't understand how he ever thought he did.

Still, for a moment, he can't help but think of this plan as the most insane thing he could have ever possibly thought was a good idea. Breaking up with a girl he genuinely loves and trying to get her to realize she loves someone else, all for the slight possibility of seeing that hope return to Quinn's eyes.

They stop by the room where most everyone in the glee club is waiting in their wedding attire. Finn glances around and feels his stomach drop when he sees that Quinn is not there.

He doesn't have much time to think about it though, because Rachel's fathers are there and they lead Finn, Burt, and Carole into the hallway.

There's a tense couple of moments where they all just stand there and no one says anything.

"Okay, can we just have a show of hands on who thinks this is still a crazy idea?" Burt asks, pacing helplessly back and forth.

Carole raises her hand immediately, giving Finn a guilty look. After a second, Leroy and Hiram follow suit, carefully avoiding eye contact.

Finn can't say he's surprised. His mother and Burt had been more than a little confused when he'd first told them the plan a few weeks back.

They still don't understand. He's starting to wonder if he does.

"Okay, good," Burt continues. "That settles it. I'm sorry, Finn, but I'm just gonna pull the plug."

"Burt, calm do—" Carole starts, but Burt cuts her off.

"Calm down, Carole? They're getting married in twenty minutes and Rachel certainly hasn't shown any signs of backing down yet." Finn looks away and shoves his hands in his pockets. "This crazy, reverse psychology game got a little out of hand and now look where we are."

"The blame game?" Hiram says, pulling himself up to his full height. He looks angry and Finn quickly averts his eyes, scared of having that anger turned his way. "Really?"

"Okay, everyone just take a deep breath," Leroy cuts in.

"Yeah, hey," Finn starts, having found his voice. "We still have time and…not everyone is here yet." He looks away again and he can feel Rachel's dads looking at him questioningly.

"I just don't understand why this is even happening," Burt says, throwing his hands up in frustration. "Just say, 'No wedding, Rachel. Sorry about your luck.'"

"No, no, no." Hiram shakes his head and purses his lips a little. "I know my daughter and she doesn't back down from anything. No matter what. Even Patti LuPone herself could not talk her out of marrying Finn."

"So, what?" Burt asks, sitting down on the armrest of a bench. "We sit and twiddle our thumbs and hope Rachel decides to call it off in time? That doesn't make sense."

Finn shakes his head. "It does make sense," he tells his stepfather. "And that's exactly what we'll do."

.

With sixteen minutes until their number is called, Burt, Carole, Hiram, and Leroy head to the room with the others to wait it out. Finn frantically checks when they head in, but Quinn is still nowhere to be seen.

He waits by the door that leads to the parking lot, pacing and bouncing up and down with each step.

It's only been a minute or so that he's been out there when he hears footsteps behind him.

When he turns, Rachel is there, in her wedding dress.

Suddenly he's trapped between dots and shapes and stones. He's tied up in a basement in a scream-all-you-want scenario because Rachel looks beautiful and it's supposed to be for him, maybe, but it isn't anymore—hasn't been for a while.

He's almost too slack-jawed to say anything when she's standing in front of him and she says, "What?" after a moment.

He shakes his dreamy stupor off because this isn't how it was supposed to go. She was supposed to have backed down hours ago and here they are with minutes to spare and Quinn nowhere to be seen.

"You…you look beautiful," he manages and she smiles.

His stomach is in knots because he's followed the plan and it isn't working.

Rachel isn't coming to some sudden realization and choosing Quinn over him.

She's dressed to marry him and waiting to say, _I do._

Briefly, he wonders if Quinn will rush in before she gets the chance, like some scene from one of those movies that always make his mom cry.

"Are you ready to go in there?" Rachel asks after a moment and he's floundering, flopping like a dying fish on a hot dock.

"I-I…just…let's…"

Fortunately, he doesn't get a chance to finish whatever that sentence was going to become because Rachel's phone buzzes and she looks down at it.

"Oh," she says. "It's Quinn. Sorry."

There's another twist in his chest that should probably be emotional pain, but isn't for some reason. Not at that moment.

"'Ran home to get my bridesmaids dress. Be there soon,'" she reads for him. Her eyes dim a bit and she sighs. "Great."

Finn wants to sigh right along with her, but thinks that would probably confuse her a bit, so he doesn't.

.

At seven minutes, Quinn still isn't there and Finn has feels like he's about to explode with nervous energy.

He stays for a minute or two, then hurries to the room where everyone else is waiting.

Rachel looks just as on edge as he feels and the problem is that he has no clue what he's even doing.

Because the plan wasn't working out like he planned it, and he thought that things that are supposed to be would just come to be. Like the stars would align or something, but Quinn isn't here and Rachel hasn't had any major revelations, nor has she proclaimed her love for Quinn loudly and with feeling.

He's starting to think that this was a very, very dumb idea and that he is stupid after all.

And he loves Rachel very much and he does want her to be happy. He's trying to put her ahead of himself and he's definitely trying to put Quinn ahead of both of them because he knows that she's suffered long enough. And, no, maybe he won't forget the pain of finding out that she'd assisted Rachel in betraying him but maybe that's not what this is about after all.

At the end of the day, Quinn deserves to be happy for once.

He can't let himself break Quinn anymore than life has already broken her and he won't let Rachel do that either. He doesn't want to be the kind of person who would do that anymore.

"Finn, out!" Mercedes commands when she sees him in the doorway. "You can't see the bride before the wedding."

"I've already seen her," Finn tells her, walking over to stand by Rachel.

"But that's bad luck," Tina says.

"It's fine." Rachel sounds exasperated and she's wringing her hands.

"Great," Sue says behind them. "Bad luck is just what this little pow-wow needed."

Santana frowns from her seat. "What are you even doing here?" she asks.

Sue shrugs. "I'm just here to support my best friend, Quinn," she answers in monotone and it's hard to tell if she's being sarcastic or not.

At this, Finn looks over at Rachel again. "Is she here yet?" he asks, but he already knows the answer.

She shakes her head.

"I told you already, Berry. She's not coming." Santana crosses her arms over her chest.

Finn almost wants to scream because this is almost like one of those ridiculous video games with the bad graphics.

Let's see how many obstacles you can get past before the timer runs out.

Finn can practically see the little animated hearts ticking down in the corner quickly.

Much more quickly than he'd like.

Two minutes to go.

"Could we please just wait a couple more minutes for Quinn?" she asks. " _Please_?"

There's a hint of desperation in her voice—a note of realization—but maybe he's just being hopeful. Maybe he's hearing what he wants to hear.

He glances back at her fathers and they give him a knowing look.

And Finn isn't sure he even has the strength left, how much more his chest can handle.

He has no idea what he's doing, what he's supposed to say. Yet his mouth is opening and he can hear himself say, "We can wait for Quinn as long as you want, Rachel."

There's a look on her face like she finally gets it, like it's all coming together and Finn almost raises his fist in triumph like that thug kid from that breakfast movie because there are no more obstacles left.

"Why is it so important that she be here?" Artie asks from somewhere behind him.

"Seriously," Kurt chimes in. "She wasn't exactly your biggest supporter."

Rachel isn't looking at any of them though, she's just staring at Finn with this look on her face like she understands what he's been doing this whole time. "Finn…" she starts, her voice quiet.

It hurts because she's holding her phone to her chest and he knows she's probably imagining that it's Quinn or something.

But still, he smiles and he says, "Yeah," to let her know that she's figured it out—she knows that there was never going to be a wedding after all.

She's on the verge of saying something and then her phone buzzes and she looks down at it.

There's something in the set of her shoulders as she reads the message that makes Finn sure that something terrible is on the brink of happening. Like they're in a movie and the killer is right behind them—the creepy music swells and he can practically see the shadow of a knife being lifted in the air.

But then the music stops and Rachel's shoulders lose some of their tension.

She sighs. She says, "She's on her way," and Finn doesn't even have to fake his smile.

"Good," he tells her and means it.

"Okay, what the actual hell is happening?" Santana asks, looking between the two of them like she's trying to size them up.

"The wedding is off," Rachel says. "We're not getting married."

She almost sounds happy about it, and not at all conflicted like the people who have to make the tough decisions in his mom's movies.

There's a chorus of, "What?" from their friends and a relieved, "Thank God," that Finn thinks comes from Burt.

On any other day, Finn would be hurt by Rachel's nonchalance, the sting of how quickly she'd delivered that line—the one he'd been trying to get out of her. No one was hurt about it, except maybe him, but he thinks people are probably confused by how quickly this whole ordeal came to an end.

"Yeah," he says, in lieu of a lot of crying and kicking over a few things.

"You're telling me I got all dressed up for nothing?" Sue asks in the corner and Mr. Schuester shushes her.

"What are we going to do now?" Mike asks quietly.

Rachel is still cradling her phone and she's done with this conversation—her eyes are on the door.

"Now we wait for Quinn," Finn tells him.

And wait they do.

.

Twenty-three minutes after their wedding was supposed to start, Santana's phone rings.

And they were so close. It's almost perfect. Everything was coming together, like the final cog in a complex machine.

Things were moving forward.

But then it stops.

Everything stops.

Santana's phone rings—shattering it all into pieces.

Quinn is going, going, gone.

And things aren't moving anymore.

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> references to things that belong to others.
> 
> sorry. can't remember them all.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter and the next are going to bridge the gap between "On My Way" and "Big Brother".
> 
> it focuses on Frannie.

…

 

_February 26 th, 2012_

****

**_.._ **

The first time Frannie ever saw her little sister was after an eternity spent playing with the least snot-covered and potentially germ-infested toys the waiting room had to offer.

Her grandparents sat behind her, watching her play with tired eyes.

They hadn’t said much other than the occasional musing about how Frannie’s mother was doing—if baby Lucy or Hannah was here yet.

Frannie was six, almost seven, and the five hours she spent in the waiting room felt like an eterniy.

When Russell came in halfway through the fifth hour, in blue scrubs, Frannie jumped to her feet and rushed over to see the tiny, fussing bundle in his arms.

Russell knelt to the ground and held the baby out for his oldest daughter to see, to inspect. “Meet your little sister—Lucy,” he’d said as Frannie’s eyes scanned over the wrinkled, purplish face of her younger sister and declared, loudly, that she didn’t like her very much.

Her grandmother had swatted her in the back of the head for that, but Russell simply laughed and remained unaffected.

“That’s okay,” he told his mother-in-law as he got to his feet, looking down at his new daughter and smiling. “Soon, you’re going to adore her, Frannie.”

Frannie, at the time, had placed her hands on her hips and huffed, claiming that she had no idea what he was talking about.

But she gets it now.

She understands it as she stands in front of the mess of tangled wires and tubing, casts and bandages, that is her little sister. Judy is somewhere behind her, crying softly into her open palm and Frannie looks over Lucy’s— _Quinn’s_ —damaged body for a while, trying to find a place that isn’t injured that she can touch.

She settles for Quinn’s arm and places her hand there, gently.

She’s awake. Dr. Akers had told them she was. Her eyes are closed and she probably has so much morphine in her system that she has no idea what’s going on, but her eyes are moving under her lids.

“Oh, Quinnie.” Judy’s voice is suddenly right there and Frannie jumps a bit, looking over at her mother who only has eyes for her youngest child.

Frannie isn’t jealous, of course. She understands.

She looks back down at Quinn.

Quinn’s eyes flutter a little, open a bit, then close. Open again, a bit more this time.

When she opens them completely, she’s staring at the ceiling and hardly even seems to notice that her mother and sister are there at all.

Her lips twitch, Frannie thinks she’s going to say something. But all that comes out is a strangled groan that makes everything inside of her shift a little towards her stomach.

It’s not a very loud sound, but it’s still impressive because it manages to make itself heard around the tube shoved down her throat.

Frannie almost jokes about it, but then realizes that Quinn wouldn’t understand and that now is not the time for jokes like that.

Quinn’s eyelids flutter, and then they’re closed again. Her heartrate slows back down, so Frannie knows she’s sleeping. Judy is crying again.

Frannie is too, but she doesn’t realize it until they pass a wide-eyed Russell on their way out of the room.

.

Judy makes an excuse and heads for the bathroom, leaving Frannie to deal with the inquisitave stares of Quinn’s friends back in the waiting room.

Frannie almost can’t handle it, and hurries to her seat, beside Santana and Brittany, across from Rachel and Sam.

Everyone looks away after a moment or two. Everyone except Sam and Frannie almost tells him to take a picture so he can cherish the moment forever, but doesn’t when she sees the worried expression on his face. It’s not morbid curiosity there—just concern, probably towards her.

Rachel is sitting beside him with her elbows resting on her knees, her face buried in her hands. Frannie inspects her shoulders, looking for the slightest tremor so that she can see if the girl is crying. But Rachel is stock-still, which is so much worse.

She remembers Rachel from the two performances she’d gone to with Thomas last year, before they’d moved. She remembers how she’d asked Quinn who the hell she was over dinner that night “with a voice like that”, can recall the hitch in Quinn’s shoulders, the tentative breath she’d taken before saying, “That’s Rachel Berry.” Quinn’s voice had softened a bit, just around the sharper corners of the brief sentence, but Frannie can remember thinking it was strange, how quietly she’d said it, like she wasn’t allowed or didn’t deserve to.

Because Frannie had heard the name before—only once or twice—and she remembered the way Quinn would dominate any Rachel-based conversation with rude descriptors and mean nicknames. So the hesitation in her voice was quite a drastic change.

Sitting there, Frannie almost wants to comfort Rachel like she did before. Mostly because she knows it’s something Quinn would do, would want her to do. But her mouth can’t even form the younger girl’s name, let alone any words of comfort. She closes her mouth and leaves it alone.

Sam, who is still staring at her, plucks up the courage to ask the question everyone else is dying to ask.

“How is she?” His voice is soft and low, like he’s trying not to scare her away.

Frannie almost tells him the truth—how Quinn had looked like a shattered doll stuck back together with too much glue; how much she wants to vomit; the look on her father’s face when he’d seen his youngest child, his pride and joy, laid out on that hospital bed.

But that’s too much, she thinks. Too much for them to handle.

And everyone is looking at her again, waiting for whatever answer she’s willing to give.

Even Rachel has pulled herself up enough to make eye contact.

In the end, she settles on, “She’s alive,” because that’s the important part, isn’t it?

The others seem to accept this, despite knowing that it’s code for, _She looks like shit, but at least she’s breathing._ Sam lets out a blast of air and slumps back in his seat, deflated.

Finn, who Frannie recalls from having met him once when he’d been dating Quinn, does a similar maneuver across the room, the slight relief on his face punctuated by a look of nausea.

Rachel draws her knees onto her seat and presses her forehead to them. Her shoulders are shaking now.

No one is paying attention to her because they’re busy trying to process Frannie’s words—trying to accept what they could possibly mean. No one except for Sam, who has one of his hands laid flat on her shoulderblade as he runs his free hand over his face.

So Frannie gets to her feet and sits down beside Rachel. She wraps a tenative arm around the other girl and says, “Shh,” even though Rachel isn’t exactly being loud.

The back of Rachel’s sweatshirt has Frannie’s maiden name on it in big, white letters.

.

“How are you holding up?” Thomas asks when he calls after another six hours of sitting in the hospital, waiting for news, for anything.

Frannie presses the phone to the side of her face like it has the power to make him magically appear beside her. “Not…” She swallows thickly around the lump in her throat, suddenly terrified that she’s going to start crying again. “Not great.”

He pauses like he knew that. Of course he knew that.

“You should see my mom,” Frannie tells him, laughing harshly in the back of her throat. Her eyes find her mother through the glass window of the door to the waiting room. Judy’s typically erect back is now hunched over as she slumps in her seat, a tired hand covering her eyes. “She’s not…I’ve never…I don’t think she’ll even agree to go home to sleep.”

“Sounds like her.” He pauses and lets the silence say nothing and everything all at once. “Do you need me there sooner than tomorrow? I told you, I can cancel my meeting. I’d rather be there.”

Frannie shakes her head. “No. Don’t…don’t drop everything for me.”

He sighs. “It’s not just for you, Fran,” he tells her, sounding defeated.

For the first time, she realizes that this sorrow is not something that only her and her mother carry—that she has to share it.

An image from the most recent Christmas, of Thomas hugging Quinn as soon as he entered the house—picking her up, spinning her around and saying, “I missed you, kiddo,”—pops into her head and she has to muffle her sob with the sleeve of her cardigan.

“Frannie?” He sounds worried. She’d be sick of everyone sounding that way if she didn’t understand why. “Are you there?”

She nods and sucks in some air. “Yeah.” She bites her lip.

“Do you need me to get on the next flight to Columbus?”

She hesitates, almost says, _Yes, of course. Just get here._ But it’s only one day.

“No,” she decides finally. “Well…yes, but…no. I don’t…I don’t think anything substantial will happen between tonight and the time you get here tomorrow.”

He sighs again, but it sounds more accepting this time. “Alright.”

He hangs up a few minutes later with an, “I love you,” that sounds more troubled than she’d ever expected it to.

.

Obviously, she’s jinxed everything by saying nothing substantial would happen because Dr. Akers is standing in front of her and her mother and her father a little later and saying a lot of things she can’t hear over the roaring in her ears.

She catches the words, “subdural,” and, “immediately,” but he’s walking away before she can ask for clarification.

There’s a respite, a brief suspension of time between the sound of his fading footsteps and Russell turning to them.

“You should go home and get some rest,” he says, and it’s almost like he’s declared war because, immediately, Judy is up in arms.

“I’m not leaving here when she’s being rushed into another surgery, Russell.”

Frannie frowns. She hadn’t heard the words surgery at all, but this explains the look on Dr. Akers face when he left.

“There’s nothing you can do by sitting out there and exhausting yourself further. You need sleep.” He gives Frannie a pointed look. “Both of you do. And as long as the two of you deprive yourselves of it, the rest of Quinn’s friends filling up that waiting room in there will continue to follow your example.”

Frannie looks between her parents. Judy still looks like she’s both willing and happy to continue fighting him on this, but Frannie knows that he’s right.

“He’s right, Mom,” she says. “You need sleep. They need to get some as well. At least four of those kids in there haven’t been home since yesterday.”

Some of the fight leaves Judy at this, and her shoulders relax a little.

“I’ll call you as soon as she’s out of surgery,” Russell tells her.

And Frannie hates him a little less despite herself.

.

She sends Judy ahead to the car, telling her that she’ll drive them home, then heads into the waiting room to tell the others.

It’s when she’s announcing that—with tomorrow being a school day—they should all go home for now, that she remembers that Sam is staying at the house.

When everyone is gathering their things and getting to their feet, she walks over to him and offers him a ride that he accepts gratefully.

She waits for him by the door, saying goodnight to everyone who passes her—accepting an akward hug from Brittany and more than one somber nod from others.

Sam stands and exchanges a few quiet words Rachel, who shakes her head a few times.

He then gestures over to Frannie, who frowns again, wondering what he’s saying, and Rachel shakes her head again before getting to her feet. She lets him hug her and then leaves, not even looking up at Frannie as she passes.

“What was that about?” Frannie asks him as she leads her way to the car.

“She didn’t want to go home,” he tells her. He voice sounds weighted down and Frannie is reminded of how much she likes Sam—how much she’d liked him those few time she’d seen him when he’d been dating her sister.

He’d been clumsy and a little dorky and he couldn’t do an impression of Harrison Ford to save his life, but he’d always seemed genuinely interested in the things people said—always seemed to care more than a lot of people she’d met.

Frannie wants to ask why, but already knows the answer.

For the same reason she, herself, doesn’t want to go home.

“I offered for her to come stay at your house—” He glances at Frannie sideways, like he’s expecting to be scolded for it, but no verbal lashing comes. “—but she shot that down pretty quick and said she was okay to go home after all.”

Frannie frowns. “Did she need a ride?”

Sam shakes his head. “She said something about her dads.”

They’re at the car now and Judy smiles at Sam when he gets into the back. “Nice to see you again,” she says, and, if Frannie’s not mistaken, it’s a joke.

Sam seems to pick up on it too because he smiles and says, “You too.”

.

Judy argues with Frannie all the way to her room, saying that she’d much rather spend the night in the hospital where at least she’ll be present if something should go wrong.

Frannie doesn’t respond to any of it, and simply points at the bed when they enter her bedroom.

For all her arguing, Judy is asleep in less than a minute after her head hits the pillow.

There’s a blanket folded at the end of her bed and Frannie slips off Judy’s shoes, tucking them by the closet door, before draping the blanket over her sleeping mother.

She turns off the light on her way out.

Sam passes her on his way to the guest bedroom, sending a quiet, “Goodnight,” her way, and Frannie realizes that, with him occupying the guest bedroom, she has nowhere to sleep.

Sam’s door closes and she stares at it for a good minute before heading to Quinn’s bedroom.

It isn’t until she flips on the light that she wishes she hadn’t come at all.

There are clothes all over the bedroom—Quinn has always been a bit of a slob—and a few books stacked by the armchair in the corner. A pile of folders and notebooks lay on the bed, scattered around the empty carcass of her backpack and Frannie staggers into the room, picking up a discarded t-shirt from the carpet.

She sits on the edge of the bed without moving anything out of the way and, consequently ends up crumpling a few pieces of paper. Without thinking, she slips the t-shirt on over her cardigan, over her shirt and looks down at it. There’s a cartoon raven on it with a speech bubble that says, “Nevermore!” and Frannie is certain she has never cried harder in her entire life.

She draws her knees up against her chest like a child, like she saw Rachel doing earlier, like she’s trying to keep herself together. She tugs the shirt down over her knees, presses her face into it and doesn’t pull away until she’s too tired to cry anymore.

She doesn’t end up sleeping in Quinn’s bed, or even changing her clothes.

Eventually, she retires to the couch, still wearing the t-shirt over her things, and falls asleep before she can even turn off the lamp.

.

Frannie wakes up to her cell phone ringing on the table by the couch.

She sits up, groggy, and rubs her eyes for a moment, blinking as she remembers where she is, and then picks up the phone and answers it without looking at who’s calling.

“Hello?”

“Frannie?” her dad says on the other end. “It’s me.”

She almost hangs up.

“Your mom didn’t answer when I called around three this morning,” he explains. “I left a voicemail, but thought I’d call you too.”

She looks at the clock on the wall by the fireplace to see that it’s nearly eight o’clock.

“Yeah, she’s probably still out,” Frannie tells him.

“I thought as much. I just wanted to tell you that…the surgery was fine. She’s…she’s fine.”

What a lie.

Frannie almost scoffs.

Instead she says, “Okay.”

“I’m assuming that you’ll be in again today.” It’s technically a statement, but his voice lifts up at the end like it’s a question.

“Yeah. Later. Once Mom gets up.”

“I’ll be here if you should need me.”

Frannie imagines him, sitting in his too-big office and waiting for his daughter’s condition to _not_ be touch-and-go. He runs his hands over his eyes like he does—like she does, like Quinn does—when he’s tired. There’s a rustle on the other end and she can picture him doing it just then with his free hand.

“You know, the needing sleep speech can go both ways,” Frannie tells him. It’s not like she cares if he gets rest—she doesn’t. She doesn’t care about him at all. Not anymore. But she can’t imagine that he’ll be able to perform his job very effectively if he’s severely sleep deprived.

Russell laughs harshly and she almost holds the phone away from her ear at the sound of it. “Yeah,” he says. “Fair enough.”

“Just a thought.”

He pauses. “Well, even if I should decide to go home, I’ll still be available if anything should happen. Don’t be afraid to call.”

“Okay.”

“Goodbye, Frannie.”

She doesn’t return his words. She just hangs up.

Behind her, someone is descending the stairs and she looks up to see Sam. His hair is slightly damp, from the shower no doubt, but at least he’s not wearing a suit anymore.

“Hey,” he greets. He doesn’t say anything about the shirt she has on over her things, which she more than appreciates. “I’m, um…I’m heading to school. Figured I’d…you know…go.”

It makes sense—mostly because it _doesn’t_ make a whole lot of sense to miss just to sit in a waiting room all day—but Frannie doesn’t think she’d be able to sit through class after class knowing that Quinn was in the hospital just across town.

Still she nods. “Do you need a ride?”

He shakes his head. “Um, Puck is coming to get me.”

She nods again. “Okay.”

“Can you…just—“ He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a piece of paper he must have torn from a notebook, handing it to her. It has a phone number scribbled on it. “That’s my number. If anything happens or…I don’t know. I just thought it made sense for you to have it…in case.”

God bless him, he looks like he’s going to cry.

Frannie understands, and even feels that tell-tale knot in her own throat, threatening to choke her words back. “Yeah,” she manages. “Okay.”

Someone honks a horn from the driveway and Sam says, “That must be Puck,” before findng his coat on the coat rack by the door and pulling it on.

Frannie watches him go and waves when he says, “Goodbye.”

The house feels overwhelmingly, terrifyingly quiet when the door shuts behind him.

.

At the hospital, it takes almost an hour and sitting around in the mostly-empty waiting room for Dr. Akers to come and find them.

Frannie almost makes a handful of jokes to her mother while they wait, but decides not to when she sees the distant look in the older woman’s eyes.

When Dr. Akers finally enters with a string of apologies, Frannie is quick to jump down his throat in search of information.

But then it’s all, “She’s such a fighter,” and, “It went smoothly, considering.”

 _Considering_.

Frannie hates the word.

“We expect to be able to take the stitches out in about a week,” Akers tells them and Frannie realizes that she has no idea what the surgery was even _for_.

But Judy must, because she looks relieved and slumps down a bit, even though she’s standing, before thanking the man profusely.

“Is she…?” Frannie starts, when Akers starts to leave the room. “Can we see her?”

He hesitates to say, “You…She’s not very lucid right now, considering—”

Frannie scowls.

“—but…I suppose, two at a time can go, yes. As long as these visits are kept relatively short. She needs her rest.”

He waves them forward and they follow him, as if in a trance, down the hall to the room where Quinn was before.

After the door is open—when Frannie’s able to see the tangled mess of her little sister—he starts talking to them about her head, the surgery, how her memory is like gigs of RAM in a computer or something.

How she can’t really store anything that’s relatively new right now.

Like she’s some sort of broken machine.

Judy is crying again.

When they’re in the room, Frannie’s hand is on the pale, warm skin of Quinn’s right arm, squeezing it three times, and Quinn coughs.

Frannie realizes that she doesn’t have the tube down her throat anymore around the same time she notices how _dry_ her lips look.

“Does she need water?” Frannie asks, interrupting whatever it is that Akers is saying to her weeping mother. He stares at her blankly. “Hello? Water? You know, H20? Can she drink it?”

He nods at her dumbly and Frannie rolls her eyes.

When he doesn’t move immediately to go get her some, she jerks her head towards the door and he scurries out of it, calling for a nurse.

Quinn coughs again and her expression is pained.

“Oh, Quinnie,” Judy whispers, coming to stand beside her daughters.

A nurse rushes in with a cup and a straw, going over to the other side of the bed and lowering it so that the straw brushes Quinn’s lips.

Quinn’s lips part after a moment, once she seems to understand what’s happening, and she takes it into her mouth and drinks for a long while.

Once the straw is pulled away, the nurse brushes some of Quinn’s hair back away from her head and Frannie notices, for the first time, the white strips—bandages, maybe—covering one side of her head.

She feels like she’s going to be sick.

“You rest, sweetie,” the nurse says, still brushing Quinn’s hair back. “You just rest.”

The straw is pulled away.

After a moment, the beeping of her heart monitor slows down.

.

Not even twenty minutes after they leave Quinn’s room, Rachel comes rushing into the waiting room, eyes wide.

Frannie has time to think that it’s almost as if she’d just found out about the accident and was only just arriving for the first time, before Rachel sees them and stops in her tracks.

But that’s ridiculous, because the girl had spent the entire weekend in that chair right across the room.

“Rachel, dear,” Judy says, getting to her feet again and taking a couple of careful steps forward. “What are you doing here, honey?”

Rachel, like Judy—like Sam had earlier—looks like she may cry too and, honestly, Frannie’s getting a little frustrated with it.

It’s not as if she blames them—really.

It’s just that she hates that they’ve been put in a situation where they can’t seem to stop.

“I, um, I was at schoo—” Rachel’s voice catches and she has to pause to swallow before continuing. “—at school and…it was all…they were talki—”

She shakes her head, cutting herself off, but Frannie gets it.

Judy must too.

She’s looking at Rachel like she’s about 0.03 seconds away from hugging her so tightly that the younger girl’s lungs collapse from the mere force of it.

There’s nothing to say, so they don’t say anything.

Judy sits back down and Frannie pats the empty seat beside her.

Rachel sits down in it without a word.

.

Sometime before they, all three, go to the cafeteria to push around the hospital’s crappy food on plastic trays, Frannie quietly says, “Do you…Would you want to see her?”

Rachel looks like she seriously considers it for a moment, but, eventually, her answer is a single shake of the head.

Frannie would like to say that she doesn’t understand why she doesn’t want to, but the image of her sister—bloody, beaten, broken—enters the darkness behind her eyelids and, honestly?

She gets it.

.

Rachel’s phone rings while they’re in the otherwise empty cafeteria and Rachel stops pushing her mushy peas with her spork, looking down at where it’s ringing on the table.

She swallows, visibly, and then she says, “I have to take this,” and grabs it before getting up and walking to the corner of the cafeteria.

Frannie follows her with her eyes, frowning as she munches unhappily on her salad.

“You should really eat something more than just that, Frannie,” Judy says but Frannie shakes her head, eyes still on Rachel.

Rachel who is now nodding at whatever is being said to her by the person on the other end of the call.

“Really, sweetie,” Judy insists and Frannie finally draws her eyes away. “That doesn’t look particularly…” She trails off, staring down distastefully at the pile of brownish lettuce on her daughter’s tray. “…appetizing.”

Rachel hangs up the call and makes her way back over, sitting down in her seat and then silence descends.

“Everything okay?” Frannie asks after a moment.

It’s really none of her business, but she can’t help but think that her sister would ask the same question—would be just as concerned.

If not more.

Rachel nods. But then, “My dads.”

Judy is frowning now, too.

“The, um…the school called them.”

Meaning that, when she’d left class earlier, she probably just up and left.

No explanation, no signing out in the main office, nothing.

If Frannie were her dads, she’d probably be just as worried and angry.

But she’s not and there’s something in the way Rachel is pressing her lips together that makes her more sympathetic.

“Are you staying?” she asks, genuinely nervous that the answer is a firm ‘no,’ even though she’s not exactly sure why.

Rachel just nods and that’s that, then.

.

“How bad was school? Honestly?”

Frannie asks it as she writes _THOMAS PICHER_ in big letters on a piece of notebook paper she’d ripped out of one of Sam’s notebooks, looking at the boy in question as she traces over the letters with the pen a few times.

She says it quietly so that Rachel, who is sitting across from them now, still beside Judy, won’t hear.

It’s a couple of hours after school let out and the waiting room is full again with the same people, though a few are missing now.

She’d told them, when they first arrived, the things that Dr. Akers had most recently told her mother, just after they’d returned from the cafeteria—that Quinn was, mostly, stable; that they were hoping to have her out of the ICU by Wednesday; that, until then, she really couldn’t have too many visitors; that sitting here wasn’t doing any good, really.

She’d been a bit more careful when she’d said that last part, though.

Still, no one had left.

They’d all seemed more content to sit around and worry about their friend right there, together, than they would be worrying about her at home.

Sam’s face falls. “It was…it was, um…People were talking about it a lot.”

Frannie bobs her head and darkens the first loop of ‘S’ a bit more.

“You know how kids are. Crazy theories and stuff.”

She nods again. “Rachel was, um…She was pretty upset when she got here earlier,” she tells him. “She sort of mentioned it, but I just wanted to know.”

“Yeah, I, um…” He glances over at where Rachel is sitting, blank-faced and staring at the TV as an episode of _All My Children_ plays with subtitles. “Puck told me she just up and left her study hall second period. Just, like, got up and left the room. Said he would have gone after her, but he’s one detention away from being suspended again.”

“Wow,” is all Frannie says and it’s her turn to look over at Rachel.

“Are they close?” she asks after a minute or two of silence, looking over her handiwork appraisingly. “I mean…Quinn talked about her and all, but I never got the impression that they were really…capable of being friends.”

When she looks away from the piece of paper, Sam looks torn.

“She just seems really broken up, is all,” she tries to explain. “I mean, not that it’s, like, not understandable, just that…”

She just trails off because she’s not positive that she’s really even getting her point across.

But Sam says, “No, yeah, it’s just…” He’s looking at Rachel again, a frown set so deeply on his features that his eyebrows are hunkered down over his eyes. “They were, um, you know, sort of…complicated.”

That’s not really surprising or anything.

She’d actually come to that conclusion already.

But the way Sam says it makes her wonder if maybe she’s missing out on something.

“What time does his flight get in again?” Sam asks, tearing his eyes away and turning them towards Frannie again.

“Um, should be in around eight,” she tells him. “Thanks for doing this, by the way.”

Sam just nods. “No problem. I’ll, um…I’ll be careful with your mom’s car.”

Frannie smiles and says, “Yeah, you better be,” and it’s supposed to be a joke, but they’re sitting in the waiting room and Quinn was in a _car crash_ , so it certainly isn’t funny.

The awkwardness lingers in the air for a while.

“He’s going to recognize me, right?” Sam asks after a moment. “Like, I won’t just be standing there like an idiot?”

Frannie slides the piece of paper to him. “Why do you think I made this?”

“Right,” he says, grabbing it in his left hand.

“Hey,” someone else says and, when Frannie looks up, it’s Finn—Quinn’s old boyfriend—looking nervous with his hands in his pockets. “Um, sorry,” he throws in when they just stare at him. “I just…I was sitting—” He jerks his head to where he was sitting, just a couple of seats over from Sam. “—and, um…I can take Sam, if you want. That way he doesn’t have to drive, like, four hours on his own. I have a truck.”

Frannie can’t help it—her eyes narrow suspiciously.

Because she’s not sure, but she thinks she remembers Quinn having told her about him being a jerk or something last year and she _knows_ that it was him who was getting married to Rachel so she almost wants to tell him to fuck off on principle.

But Sam is looking at him, slack-jawed and stumped, and then he says, “Are you sure?”

Finn shrugs. “Not like I can help much here.”

The harsh look Frannie is giving him lessens a bit.

Maybe he really _does_ just want to help.

“Do you even know where you’re going?”

Finn nods. “Yeah,” he says. “Um, Thomas is your husband, right?”

Clearly he has a better memory than Frannie does because, as far as she can recall, they’d only met him once two years ago.

“Yeah,” she answers and he nods again.

“If you’re sure, Finn.”

Sam gets to his feet and Finn says, “I’m sure.”

“We have to go now, though,” Sam tells him. “His flight should be here in a few hours.” When Finn goes to grab his coat from his seat, Sam tells Frannie that they’ll, “bring him back safe,” and then goes over to say goodbye to Rachel.

She watches as he says something that makes Rachel nod and then he squeezes her hand and follows Finn out of the room.

The look Finn and Rachel share is a little more confusing—almost like some sort of silent apology from both their sides.

.

Thomas arrives around ten that night.

During the four hours she was waiting for him, Frannie had had time to picture his entrance, but she hadn’t imagine this—him walking with his head hung low, coat slung over his arm, bag over his shoulder, eyes on the floor as he follows Sam and Finn in.

She’d imagined him barging in, sure.

Running in? Definitely.

But this?

“Hey,” she says, getting to her feet and crossing the space between them to where he’s stopped to watch her.

“Hey,” he returns, and then his arms are tight around her, lips in her hair. “Hey.”

“I’m so glad you’re here,” she whispers into the collar of his button-down shirt.

“Me too.”

When they pull back, Judy is standing there and Thomas is quick to hug her, too.

“How is she?” he asks, when he releases his mother-in-law. “Is she stable?”

Frannie nods. “Yeah,” is her answer and she resists the urge to throw in, ‘for now.’

“They want to move her out of the ICU by Wednesday,” Judy tells him.

“That’s great,” Thomas says and it’s not really great, but Frannie supposes it _is_ considering.

 _Considering_.

Frannie thanks Finn a few minutes later and Finn just shrugs in his seat with a small smile.

“It’s the least I can do,” is all he says.

.

It’s after visiting hours, so Thomas can’t see her that night and no one else had asked to even when it _had_ been visiting hours—Frannie thinks they may have been trying very hard not to overstep their bounds.

They pack up to go home not long after Thomas arrives.

Rachel seems just as reluctant to go as she was last time, but Sam says something to her again and then she’s out of her chair and into her coat, following them towards the parking lot.

“Who’s that?” Thomas asks when they’re in the car watching Rachel’s tail lights disappear.

“A friend of Quinn’s,” Frannie tells him and the look Sam gives her doesn’t change the fact that she doesn’t know what else to label it as.

.

Judy pulls out an air matress right after Sam closes the door to the guest room and turns off the lights.

She sets it up in Russell’s old study downstairs and says, “It’s better than the sofa.”

Thomas thanks her profusely and then Judy’s gone too—fading into the shadowy upper level of the house.

On the squeaky, rubber bed that night, Thomas holds Frannie to his chest the best that he can manage and whispers, “It’ll be okay,” against the skin of her forehead as she lets herself cry for the first time all day.

.

Rachel is already in the waiting room when they get there the next morning.

The TV is on in the corner and she’s brought a book with her this time—Frannie thinks it says _The Complete Tales and Poems of Edgar Allan Poe_ —but her eyes are just staring at the page in a way that makes it obvious that she’s not really reading.

She’s still wearing Quinn’s sweatshirt and Judy doesn’t even ask why she’s there and not at school.

She just sits down next to her.

.

Dr. Akers comes by to tell them that she’s finally stable—that they’ll be moving her tomorrow.

He mentions Russell and says something about him already scheduling her physical and occupational therapy sessions.

He says that it will take a while for her walk, or even write her name, but they’re hopeful—“The swelling around her spinal cord isn’t as severe as we originally thought,” and, “She’s a smart girl. Strong, too. We’re very hopeful.”

Frannie has to run to the bathroom to throw up.

Someone comes into the stall behind her and pulls back her hair and she thinks that it’s Thomas, but when she stops dry heaving enough to pull away, it’s Rachel.

“She’ll be okay,” Rachel says softly when Frannie is cupping water from the sink in her hand to rinse out her mouth. “She’ll be okay.”

Frannie’s not sure who she’s trying to convince exactly.

.

Quinn is awake when Frannie goes in with Thomas to see her a little later—they’d invited Rachel, too, but she’d turned the offer down again.

“Oh, God,” Thomas whispers when he sees the state she’s in.

He says it so softly, Frannie isn’t sure she was meant to hear it.

They only stay for a few minutes, but it’s long enough for Thomas to swipe under his eyes with his fingers and it’s only the second time since they’ve been together that Frannie has seen him cry.

.

Santana and Brittany show up with Sam and Finn that day, looking guilty when they see Frannie and Judy.

“We wanted to come yesterday,” Santana says, “But Coach made us go to practice.”

Frannie feels bile rise up in her throat again and she’s just about to ask _why_ when Santana says, “I think she…I think she’s trying to give us some sort of sense of normalcy. Take our minds off of it.”

“Why did she let you come today, then?” Frannie asks and Judy looks up when she hears the bitter tone in her oldest daughter’s voice.

Brittany reaches over and grabs Santana’s hand, squeezing it. “Because it didn’t work.”

.

Quinn gets moved to her own private room the next afternoon.

Rachel is there, still in Quinn’s sweatshirt.

She plays with a ring she has on her finger and shakes her head when Judy asks if she’d like to go see her again.

“Stop asking her that,” Frannie whispers harshly when they leave the younger girl behind in the waiting room, making their way down the hall to Quinn’s new room.

“Why?” Judy asks and Frannie says, “I think her answer is always going to be ‘no.’”

.

Quinn is awake when they get in there and her eyes are actually open this time.

Judy crosses the room to her daughter quickly, reaching out as if to touch her and then drawing her hand back just as quickly.

Quinn opens her mouth and, for a moment, Frannie thinks she’s going to say something, but all that comes out is a slight burst of air.

“Quinnie,” Judy says softly, pressing forward so that she’s right against the bed. “You’re awake. How are you feeling? Do you need water? Don’t try to move.”

Frannie takes a couple of steps towards the bed—enough to see Quinn’s look of nausea and the way she presses her eyelids closed, like the rush of words has left her dizzy.

She feels Thomas’s steadying hand on the small of her back.

“Quinnie?”

But Quinn doesn’t open her eyes.

The beeping of the heart monitor by her bed slows down considerably.

And then Quinn starts twitching—her legs, her arms, her fingers.

Not violently, but enough to make Frannie think she’s going to pass out.

Judy steps away, one hand covering her mouth and then Thomas is saying, “I’ll go get the nurse,” and rushing from the room, leaving Frannie to pull her mother over by the wrist and wait it out.

.

Dr. Akers tells them that it was a “vasovagal syncope” and that it “wasn’t it as bad as an actual seizure” or “related to the burr hole procedure”.

He says they’ll keep an eye on her and Frannie nearly bites his head off—nearly says, “Shouldn’t you already be doing that?”—but she doesn’t for some reason.

Still, his reassuring smile does little to calm her down.

.

Thomas goes out to sit with Rachel because Frannie says she won’t leave her mother, who won’t leave Quinn.

It’s quite the situation.

When he says, “I won’t tell her about… _that_ ,” Frannie kisses him and says, “Thank you,” against his lips.

He says, “No problem,” and then he’s out of the room and down the hall.

.

That night, Judy tries to get them to agree to let her stay, but Frannie won’t have it.

“You need sleep, Mom,” she says. “And I don’t think you’ll be able to here.”

“I can’t just leave her here alone, Frannie. What if she wakes up?”

She looks terrified at the prospect.

So, at the end of her rope, Frannie does something she’d silently sworn to never do and makes her way down the familiar halls to her father’s office.

Russell is inside when she gets there, typing something into his computer and he looks like he hasn’t slept in weeks.

His bloodshot eyes get wide when he sees her standing in the doorway.

“What are you…?” He starts, but seems to understand that it’s not the best phrasing and stops himself short. “Is everything okay?”

She gives him a look because _of course_ it isn’t.

“Right, yeah,” he offers helplessly, chuckling to himself dryly. “Do you…What can I do for you?”

It’s a question she’s heard him say a million times on the phone or to colleagues—or had, at least, when she was growing up—but it had always sounded more like a joke than like he meant it.

But now it sounds serious.

It sounds like the most serious thing in the world.

“Can you…Mom won’t leave Quinn alone tonight and I was wondering if you could…” Frannie trails off, averting her eyes for a few seconds before she just spits it out. “Could you stay with her tonight?”

Russell certainly seems taken aback, especially if you’re going off of his silent stare that lasts almost a minute.

“Um,” he starts and Frannie holds her hand up.

“No, forget I said anything,” she says. “Why would you want to, right?”

She scoffs, but Russell cuts in.

“Of course I’ll stay with her,” he answers and, when she looks up, his expression is sincere. “I’m not sure I’ll be…who she wants to see, should she wake up. But, of course I will.”

It’s almost too much to believe—too much to handle at once—so Frannie thanks him and excuses herself quickly.

.

The next morning, Russell is there when they get in, his head lolling down against his chest in a chair by Quinn’s bed.

Frannie almost hates to wake him up, but she does it anyway.

.

She gets her chest tube out a few hours later.

Quinn does, that is.

She’s awake for it, but barely, and not really aware of what’s happening.

“She’ll be in a lot of pain still,” Dr. Akers tells them and Frannie has a very vivid image of herself punching him straight in the nose.

“Believe me,” she says bitterly. “We knew that.”

.

Sam goes in to see Quinn for the first time after school that afternoon.

Frannie almost wants to go with him, but Thomas stills her with a hand on her arm and so she just watches him go.

Her and Judy had discussed that morning that, if anyone else wanted to see her, it might be best to give them privacy.

So, instead of sitting in Quinn’s room with her, they’re out in the waiting room.

She’s not sure what he says in there, if anything, or if Quinn is really even coherent enough to understand that he’s there, but, when he comes out he looks like he’s been crying.

Rachel grabs his hand when he sits down and he rests his head against her shoulder and is just quiet for the longest time.

Santana and Brittany are the next to go in, having asked for permission with quiet, unsure words.

When they come out, they look a slightly upset, but a great deal better off than Sam.

“How…?” Rachel starts, and Frannie thinks that sentence was going to end in, ‘was she?’ before she cut herself off.

“Pretty out of it,” Santana answers, flopping down in a chair across from them. “She quoted—what was it?” She looks over at Brittany, who is taking the seat beside her, in askance.

“Winnie the Pooh,” Brittany answers.

“Was it the exercise song from the beginning of _The Many Adventures_ or the bluster-y day song?” Judy asks, looking supsiciously like she may start smiling. “She used to sing them nonstop when she was a girl.”

“Yeah, it was the bluster-y one,” Santana continues. “She asked what day it was, so I said, ‘Thursday,’ and then she said, ‘I missed Wednesday?’ and she looked really sad about it. So I asked what the big deal about Wednesday is and she said—”

Brittany cuts in here, saying, “’It’s always on a Winds-day that the winds begin to blow.”

Frannie isn’t sure how to respond to that, or if she’s supposed to—whether it’s appropriate to smile—and it’s clear that the others in the room are in the same predicament, awkwardly glancing between each other silently.

But then, at once, Judy starts laughing from her seat beside her daughter, covering up her mouth with her hand and mumbling, “Sorry,” before she continues right on, giggling like a thirteen-year-old.

And then Thomas joins in on Frannie’s other side, chuckling deep in his chest.

There’s a brief pause, one second where everyone is breathing and silently asking for permission to join in, and then they’re all laughing.

Rachel and Sam even join in, looking at each other and smiling as they shake their heads.

Frannie leans into her mother’s side and squeezes Thomas’s hand three times—getting four squeezes in return—as they all just keep laughing, like they can’t stop.

And it was so, so needed, for all of them. They needed to do this—laugh at Quinn being loopy on painkillers because the only other option these days has been to cry and, frankly, they’re all so sick of it.

Brittany starts singing the beginning of the song and even Judy and Frannie join in, as do Tina and Mercedes on the other side of the room.

They sing and laugh and smile and love Quinn in that moment in a way that doesn’t necessarily involve ripping themselves apart with guilt and worry.

It’s such a nice change.                                  

That is, until a woman with long, dark hair comes into the room, looking as subdued as they had before this moment, giving them all strange looks when she finds them in high spirits.

The singing stops. The laughter stops.

They stare at this woman, embarrassed to have been caught in a rare moment of release—a rare moment when they aren’t just sitting there in silence waiting for a miracle.

Frannie frowns at the woman, certain that she looks familiar, and then Rachel is on her feet, Sam’s hand still tightly grasped in hers.

“Shelby?” she says. “What are you doing here?”

And it all clicks into place.

.

Shelby doesn’t want to go in, but she stands by the door, the large window with the huge, vertical blinds that grant a difficult view of a sleeping Quinn.

Judy goes inside and pulls a chair up to her daughter’s bed.

From outside the room, Frannie watches her mother grab her sister’s hand and just hold it.

Shelby shifts her weight awkwardly beside her.

“Um…Noah Puckerman told me. He’s…He’s watching Beth.”

Shelby’s voice sticks around the little girl’s name and Frannie frowns at the thought of her estranged niece.

“I wanted to…I was going to bring her, but I didn’t…”

Frannie nods. She gets it.

She didn’t want Beth to see Quinn like this—didn’t want Quinn to get upset.

The list goes on, really.

“Is she…How bad is it?”

She’s the first person to ask that—the first person to ask for specifics rather than a general, blurry outlook that leaves plenty of room for hope.

Still, Frannie’s not sure where to start.

She says, “Bad. But…She’ll…She’ll make it.”

Shelby exhales beside her—loud and long.

Frannie’s shoulders stiffen at the sound.

“That’s…That’s so wonderful. Quinn is…She’s incredibly strong, isn’t she?”

A question like that is typically said rhetorically, as a way of reaffirming a fact between two people who know it to be true.

But Shelby says it like an actual question—she really doesn’t know, maybe has a hunch.

Frannie nods. She says, “She really is.”

.

“Would you want me to bring her?” Shelby asks, a little later, as Frannie walks her towards the waiting room. “That is…would your mother…?”

She trails off and Frannie isn’t sure how to answer because her chest feels impossibly tight at the thought of meeting Beth for the first time.

Especially now.

Still, she says, “Yeah, um…That would be nice. My mom would…She’d love to be reacquainted.”

Shelby laughs and Frannie almost wants to hate her—this woman who has the very thing Quinn has regretted forfeiting for two years, the very person that has helped rip Quinn apart—but Shelby is nice and worried about Quinn and she came all this way because of it.

In the waiting room, Shelby says, “Rachel, would you maybe…?” and jerks her head towards the door, silently asking the girl if she’d walk her out, or something to that effect.

And then Frannie realizes why Shelby looks so familiar.

She remembers that Quinn had told her, back when she’d first given Beth up, that the woman who’d adopted her was the mother of one of her classmates.

And, maybe, at the time, Quinn had said Rachel’s name, but it’s been so long and Frannie’s tired, so it doesn’t click until right then.

Rachel looks unsure—Frannie nearly cuts in to deny the request for her—but she gets to her feet and follows her mother out.

It’s possible that it’s rude to follow them, but Frannie does—pecking Thomas on the cheek and saying that she needs to go to the restroom before following them down the hall at a good distance.

Outside, by the entrance, Shelby and Rachel stand in the little enclosure past the first set of double doors.

Rachel doesn’t have her coat on over Quinn’s sweater so they don’t go outside and from where Frannie is leaned against the wall by the glass, watching them without alerting them to her presence, they’re just standing there unsurely.

Shelby buttons up her coat and Frannie can just hear her say, “How are you holding up?”

It’s muffled and Rachel hasn’t talked to anyone much—not that Frannie knows of, at least—so her voice is rough with disuse.

“I’m, um…”

Frannie watches her just shrug.

Shelby’s shoulders hitch up under her peacoat and she nods. “Did the, um…The wedding with Finn…?”

Rachel shakes her head. “No,” she answers. “We didn’t get married.”

It would probably be polite to duck out now—not eavesdrop longer than that second, that sentence right there—but Frannie can’t help but worry for Rachel, this girl who has done nothing but merely exist since Frannie first met her on Sunday.

“Did you…Have you seen her? Talked to her? Her sister said she’s been pretty out of it, but I’m sure she’d love to see you…considering.”

Just past the glass and around the small corner she’s tucked into, Frannie’s eyebrows lower at the final word, lips twisting downwards.

“No, I…I…I don’t think she wants to see me very much,” is Rachel’s answer.

It sounds like she sniffles, then, but Frannie has pulled away so that she can’t see them, can’t be seen.

A long pause, then Shelby saying, “You don’t know that, sweetie. I’m sure…That girl…She…You should try.”

Another pause.

“Call me if you need anything, Rachel,” are Shelby’s parting words.

Rachel sniffs again to the sound of the other set of doors closing.

Quickly, Frannie stirs, pulling herself away and towards Quinn’s room before she can be seen.

.

Quinn is more lucid the next day, greeting Judy as, “Momsie!” when they come in that morning.

Frannie laughs and Quinn says, “Why are _you_ here?” looking at her sister and her brother-in-law confusedly.

“You hurt yourself, kid,” Frannie reminds her and Quinn frowns as Judy kisses the bandage on her side of her head and sits down beside her.

“No, I didn’t.”

“Sure, you did.”

Quinn looks down at herself—the cast on her right arm, on her right leg, all those wires—and then giggles. “So I did. Oops.”

It should be funny, but it isn’t.

Thomas squeezes Frannie’s shoulder.

Quinn winces when she laughs again, frowning down at her lap. “ _Ow_ ,” she whispers and then flops her head back against her pillows.

Judy squeezes her hand and kisses her knuckles, whispering something Frannie can’t hear and Quinn just keeps her eyes closed.

She’s awake long enough for the nurse to help her sip some water and feed her some Jell-O, and then she’s asleep again.

The TV in the corner of the room plays game shows and Rachel stays in the waiting room all day.

.

Slowly, the others start visiting her in pairs or trios over the next few days.

They bring flowers and teddy bears until her hospital room looks like a jungle and Quinn smiles at it all and says, “It’s too much.”

Thomas gently ruffles her hair when she says that. “It’s not nearly enough,” he tells her, and she sticks her tongue out at him.

Everyone tells her over and over how good she looks—some of them cry.

Coach Sylvester brings a plate of crab cakes, which Quinn can’t eat because she’s just barely on solid foods again, but she looks appreciative.

When she leaves, Sue says something about wishing Quinn could have stayed on the Cheerios, but Quinn looks confused, like she doesn’t know what that’s supposed to mean.

Rachel stays in the waiting room during these days, but her dads—who come on Saturday—tell her that she’ll have to return to school the next week.

They leave flowers, too. Two bouquets, actually, and one of the cards says _Rachel_ in clear, curly writing with a small red, ink heart in the corner.

Quinn insists on sniffing every bouquet.

Thomas and Judy oblige, holding them up to her nose while Frannie laughs from the small, stiff couch by the door of the room.

They don’t let her read the cards—worried that their _Get Well Soon_ ’s will simply upset her.

That, and the fact that they’re not sure how she’d react were she to read the card that has Russell’s name on it.

It’s not perfect—she still winces a lot, especially when she breathes too deeply or someone says something that makes her laugh.

Consequences, Frannie thinks, of having your chest spread wide open.

Still, she gets the stitches in her scalp out on Sunday morning.

Dr. Akers says that she looks great, but Quinn is still living and breathing morphine, so she doesn’t understand what’s happening.

In the hallway, he asks them if they want him to go over her injuries with her and it’s then that Frannie realizes that things have not magically gotten better now that Quinn can stay awake for more than two hours at a time.

She is still broken, recovering. There’s still so much to do before it’s perfect.

.

They tell her on Tuesday—ten days after her accident—when she’s awake and being fed cut-up cafeteria chicken nuggets.

They tell her because she’d asked why she can’t do it herself and then tried to flex her hand to take the fork from her mother, only to find that her fingers did not respond as quickly as she would like—wouldn’t quite curl the right way.

When Dr. Akers says, “swelling around the spinal cord that has caused, what we think will be temporary, paralysis” Frannie eyes her sister, gnawing on her bottom lip.

Quinn’s face is blank, though, staring at the TV in the corner even though there’s no way she’s paying attention to what’s on the screen.

When he tells her about her head, her brain, the blood and what they’d had to do to fix it—how her fine motor skills are basically zero and then _therapy_ to remedy both issues—Quinn finally cries.

She mumbles, “Ow, ow,” under her breath as she does and one of her hands is raised towards her chest, hovering in front of it like she wants to touch it but knows enough not to.

The nurse puts a pillow between her hand and her chest, pressing it there and then moving Quinn’s hand so she can hold it in place.

Judy rushes to her side, trying to draw her daughter into her arms, but Quinn shoves her away angrily.

Dr. Akers steps forward, saying something along the lines of, “Quinn, we’re here to support you. There are so many—”

But Quinn just stares at him coldly and says, “Get out.”

Thomas seems to know they should obey, even though everything inside of Frannie tells her not to.

He grabs her by the wrist and pulls her out, ushering Judy as well with a hand on her back.

In the hall, through the window, Frannie watches Quinn collapse in on herself, covering her face with shaky hands.

.

“It was so bad,” Frannie whispers to Sam and Rachel a little later, when they’re in the waiting room.

Thomas is sitting with Judy, trying to comfort the crying older woman as best as he can.

Rachel doesn’t look at her—staring, instead, at the floor.

Sam’s bottom lip is quivering.

“She’ll be okay,” he says. “She’s a fighter.”

Frannie closes her eyes and shakes her head. “She shouldn’t have to be.”

.

“Is…” Quinn clears her throat, coughing a bit and then wincing and pressing a pillow to her chest. “Is she mad at me?”

Frannie looks up from the booklet on traumatic brain injuries she’s pretending to read to where Santana and Brittany are sitting by Quinn’s bed.

Thomas and Judy are out—getting food from _not_ the cafeteria for once—but should be back soon, judging by how much resistance they’d been met with in trying to convince Judy that Quinn would be alright for the twenty minutes it would take.

It had taken until the afternoon after her meltdown for Quinn to agree to let them back into the room and, in the few days since then, she’s been more than a little guarded around them.

She hasn’t talked about the accident since, or, actually, anything _before_ the accident either.

Dr. Akers had told them that this was normal—she was just trying to compromise the situation in her own head—and that they should just let her, be patient.

Frannie is trying to, but it’s hard. Especially today—two weeks exactly since the accident.

She’d barely wanted to let Santana and Brittany in, but Quinn had—coldly, mind you—told her to, insisting that she was fine enough to see them.

The first ten minutes of them being there, they’d all just sat in silence.

This is the first that Quinn has spoken.

Normally, she’s more than a little out of it, with glassy eyes from her painkillers and a loopy smile that will sometimes be sent in the direction of whoever is talking—even if she’s supposed to be mad at them at the time.

But, right now, she seems like she definitely knows what she’s saying, what’s going on. And that’s maybe a bit more terrifying, worrisome.

Frannie eyes her warily.

“Is who mad at you, Q?” Santana asks and it’s the most gentle Frannie has ever heard the younger girl’s voice.

Quinn swallows. “Um…”

“No,” Brittany cuts in, seeming to know what’s being said. “No, she’s not mad at you.”

“But she hasn’t…” Quinn coughs and winces, closing her eyes for a moment. When they open, she finishes with, “She hasn’t come in.”

Santana looks over at Brittany questioningly and Frannie watches the interaction with a similar expression.

But, then, her eyes light up with realization and she looks back over at Quinn.

“No, Quinn, she’s not mad at you,” she says and Frannie—realizing what they’re talking about—lets her mind drift to Rachel who, even though she’d returned to school this past week, still insisted on spending every spare moment in the waiting room.

“Then why…?”

Quinn closes her eyes again and Santana shifts forward, placing a hand on the other girl’s arm and giving it a gentle squeeze.

“I think she’s mad at herself.”

.

Santana and Brittany leave when Judy and Thomas arrive with food, thanking them and going to join some of their peers in the waiting room.

There aren’t that many that sit around every day now, though.

In fact, it’s pretty much just the two of them, Rachel, Sam, and, surprisingly, Finn.

Now that everyone has had a chance to see Quinn, send their condolences, they’re able to move on with their lives.

Frannie could hate them for it if it didn’t make sense—if she didn’t understand.

It’s not fair to ask them to put their lives on hold for Quinn, like she and Thomas have.

They don’t have the same responsibilities.

“Thanks,” Frannie mumbles as Thomas hands her a white, paper bag from yet another fast food restaurant.

When she looks up, Quinn is looking at her, eyeing her food.

“Do you want some?” Frannie asks, holding up a fry.

Judy watches them and it’s clear that she wants to scold her daughter for it—because, technically, Quinn isn’t allowed to stray from the diet her doctors and nurses have set in place.

But she doesn’t say anything.

Quinn, still trying to look angry at her sister, just turns her eyes away to the TV and that’s that, then.

Frannie shoves the fry into her own mouth, but she doesn’t look like she likes it one bit.

“We left the rest of the food with Sam,” Thomas tells her when they’re seated, eating quietly. “Did you know Rachel’s vegan?”

Frannie bangs her knee against his to get him to stop talking and Quinn’s clenching her jaw tight now.

“What?” Thomas asks, sounding worried.

“Just don’t,” Frannie tells him.

He looks like he still wants to argue but, thankfully, refrains from saying Rachel’s name for the rest of the day.

.

Finn asks to see Quinn the next morning when they arrive.

He has his hands shoved deep in his pockets and he looks so nervous that Frannie is, for a moment, worried that he may throw up.

Still, she says, “Yeah,” and he says, “She’ll probably kick me out, but…yeah…” and then heads for the room.

Instead of joining him like they have with the others, Frannie and Judy stay in the hallway while Thomas sits in the waiting room with Rachel and Sam.

When Finn first enters, Quinn looks up, confused, but then turns her eyes away, as if the window with a nice view of the parking lot is a better option.

Finn doesn’t say anything—doesn’t even ask if he can sit.

He just does, scooting the chair a bit closer and dropping down into it.

After a few tense, silent moments, Judy catches Frannie’s eyes, silently asking if they should intervene, but Frannie shakes her head.

Not yet.

A few minutes later, Finn drops his hand on the bed by Quinn’s hand and Frannie can just see him bump her fingers with his playfully.

She expects Quinn to say something—tell him to get out or something like that—but she doesn’t.

She just looks down at his hand and then bumps it back.

They do that a few more times and then Finn catches her hand instead of bumping it and doesn’t let go.

It’s about twenty more minutes before he lets go, gets up, and says, “See you later, Quinn,” before ducking out of the room.

She stares after him until he’s gone, then frowns and leans into her pillows.

Frannie and Judy decide to give her a little bit before they join her.

.

Thomas gets a call from work a few hours later—a call that tells him that he’s needed.

Despite knowing that he couldn’t stay away forever, Frannie had secretly hoped that this wouldn’t happen and, when it does, it’s more than a little disappointing.

“I don’t have to go,” he tells her, when they’re standing in the study downstairs. “I can tell them where to shove their little shipping emergency.”

Even as he says it, he’s shoving his clothes into his suitcase.

“No,” Frannie says. “You’re needed. Just…You’re needed, we’ll be okay here. Quinn is…She’ll be okay now.”

Thomas zips up his suitcase and pulls her into his arms. “I’ll come back as soon as I can, okay?”

She nods into his shoulder and they stay like that for only about five minutes before they’re out of the house and in the car.

.

“I’ll be back, okay?” Thomas says to Quinn a little later, when he’s standing by her bed.

Quinn won’t look at him.

“You take care of these two.” He nods to Judy and Frannie, who are standing by the door.

He looks over at them helplessly and Frannie gives him a sympathetic shrug. Judy looks like she’s going to start crying again.

“Okay,” Thomas whispers. “Bye, kid.”

He leans down and kisses her forehead and heads for the door.

In some dramatic plot twist or scene or movie, Quinn might say goodbye back before he can leave. She might make him promise to return.

But she doesn’t.

She just keeps looking out the window.

.

Thomas takes the rental car when Frannie says that, since she’ll be staying God-only-knows-how-long, she can just use her mother’s car.

He hugs them all goodbye—even Rachel—and then he’s gone.

“Are you okay?” Rachel asks an hour or so after he’s left.

Frannie almost tells her then—about how Quinn won’t even look at them or talk to them; about how she’d asked for Rachel without really asking for her; that she thinks she knows what’s going on between them and maybe Rachel should just suck it up and go see her.

Instead, she says, “Yeah, I am…I mean….considering.”

...

 

 

 


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> that gap was insane and totally unplanned, but my life sort of very rapidly fell apart and is probably not going to be fixing itself anytime soon. so i was dealing with that.
> 
> and then my beta was super busy with marching band for about ten days and couldn’t read this until last night. (beta here means someone who listens as i read it aloud and tells me if it’s coherent and postable.)
> 
> any mistakes are mine (or my version of microsoft’s) and i apologize for them.
> 
> this is super angsty. have fun.
> 
> also like everyone sucks in this. they're all selfish teenagers who are making stupid mistakes and forgetting that they're not perfect. like most issues, this could be easily solved by simple communication. but, you know. that's how life is. they'll figure it out.

_…_

_March 26 th, 2012_

_.._

“How does it feel to be home, Quinn?”

Quinn doesn’t look at Leroy when he says it.

She keeps her eyes trained on her hands, folded over the blanket on her lap, her forefinger picking a bit at the blue fuzzy fabric.

“I know your mom and sister are happy you’re back here. Are you happy you’re back here?”

It’s not right to be mad at him.

Or fair, really.

He’s simply doing his job—fulfilling his promise to her mom that he would “try his best” to “help” you however she “may need.”

Granted, he hadn’t known she’d been listening to that—both him and Judy had been outside her hospital room during that conversation last week and she’d been pretending to be sleeping.

It had hurt a little to hear from the mouth of someone, for the first real time, really, that she needs help.

She hasn’t really been thinking about it that way.

Well, she’s been trying not to, anyway.

Zach, her physical therapist, has been telling her that she’s making amazing progress, even though the only things she’s really been working on are stretches—which he does for her—and sitting up for extended periods of time in order to prepare her for her return to school.

He’d gone over the fundamentals of her wheelchair too, but he’d been too apprehensive about tiring her out to make her do anything for long.

“You’ll get it,” he’d said.

He hadn’t said, “You’ll have to,” but she’d taken it that way anyway.

And Ellie, her occupational therapist, has just been reminding her to be patient.

“Rome wasn’t built in a day,” she says at least once a session.

That’s all well and good when Ellie isn’t relearning how to hold a pencil or feed herself.

When Ellie can go home to her family and forget all of Quinn’s troubles for a  night while Quinn had to have her mother tie her tennis shoes when she was discharged earlier this morning.

But Leroy had said outright that she’s in need of help, so it had come as a bit of a shock, even though Quinn had already known that.

Of course she knew that.

And now he’s sitting in the armchair of her bedroom—which is actually her dad’s old study that Finn, Sam, and Frannie converted over the weekend—staring at her expectantly.

Like everyone else has this past month, he has so many questions that she doesn’t really have answers for.

“Quinn?” he prods, looking worried.

Quinn likes Leroy, she does.

She likes that him and his husband have visited her three times—though the number of visits from their daughter remains at a whopping _zero_.

She likes that he smiles without showing his teeth and that he wears vests and sports coats with those little elbow patches.

She likes that he’s trying.

What she doesn’t like is that he thinks that, if she’s actually in need of fixing, he can help her more than she can help herself.

“What?” she asks, pretending to have not heard him or registered his words.

It’s a cheap trick, mostly because it’s something that has happened more than a few times since she woke up.

It’s not that she doesn’t hear some things or know that someone is talking, it’s that she just can’t register the words and it will take her a few minutes to even remember that she should ask what was said.

Leroy, having probably been informed of this problem, takes it all in stride.

“I asked if you were happy to be home,” he tells her, smiling a bit.

Quinn frowns. “I guess,” she tells him.

The real answer is, “no.”

“Is there a reason for that?”

There is, Quinn thinks, but not one that would make sense to him.

She doesn’t like all of the changes that have been made. She hates that she’s lying in a hospital bed, that the bathroom by the kitchen has been upgraded with toilet and bath lifts, that there’s at least one emergency pull cord in all of the rooms downstairs.

She hates that Frannie is still here—that she’s made excuses for not going back to Georgia, but, really, Quinn knows that it’s because she can’t take care of herself and Frannie doesn’t want Judy to have to deal with it alone.

“Probably,” she says quietly and that’s all he gets.

“Would it be okay if I played you some music?”

This question actually comes after a minute or two of just quietly sitting there without looking at each other.

Leroy asks it as if that wasn’t what he showed up to do—as if he wasn’t a music therapist who offered his services free of charge to her mother because he wants “to help any way he can.”

But Quinn isn’t supposed to know that.

She nods again, still not looking at him. “Yeah, sure.”

After a moment of him fumbling with a small set of portable speakers he brought, the opening notes of _Rhiannon_ filter through them.

“Your mom said you love this song,” Leroy tells her. “Would you want to sing it with me?”

Quinn isn’t sure what he’s trying to do here, or why he’s playing this song.

She wonders if her mom gave him access to her iTunes or something and has a brief image of him downloading her most played songs.

She shakes her head.

Leroy nods, seemingly having expected this. “That’s perfectly okay. We can just listen if you want.”

And then they sit in silence.

He plays a few more songs and when he leaves, Quinn is certain that he must have actually written down stuff from her iTunes account because there’s no other way he’d have known how much Disney she listens to.

.

Sam brings her dinner that night, but doesn’t stay long.

She’s watching something mindless that she won’t have to think about on her laptop, propped up on the food tray that her mom must have bought assuming she wouldn’t want to join them much.

“Here you go,” he says, handing her a plate of chicken nuggets that have been cut into tiny, even pieces.

He stands by the bed for a few seconds while she stares down at the hacked up dinosaur shapes, shifting his weight like he wants to ask if she needs help.

“I’m fine,” she says finally, stopping whatever train of thought he was on and already gripping her curved fork.

“If you need us,” he tells her, jerking his head out the door to where they’ll be eating.

She nods and then he leaves.

It’s easier to feed herself like this—with a utensils her occupational therapist had recommended her mother three sessions ago. It’s curved towards her mouth already, so she doesn’t have to do much.

Still, she can’t help but feel like an idiot, a failure.

She can’t help but feel like she’s not getting any better.

.

Quinn looks away from the ceiling to the floor between the couch she’s lying on and the coffee table, where Finn is sitting cross-legged and playing a game on his phone.

It’s only her third day home and Zach just left after having come over to help her with her stretches and ask how things are going with her chair.

He’d seemed sympathetic when she’d mentioned running into things, but had offered no help. He’d just said, “It’ll get easier,” like that was that.

Finn came over not long after.

Judy is still at work and Frannie is talking to a coworker on the phone in the kitchen.

Sam, Quinn thinks, must be somewhere else.

She does not let herself wonder where Rachel is or what she’s doing.

“Is your jet pack shooting out bubbles?” Quinn asks, looking down at the screen Finn is tapping manically.

He nods absently, humming in affirmation.

It’s a game she’s seen him play once before—a couple of visits in, before he’d brought _The Bridge to Terabithia_ and asked if she wanted to read it together.

But then they’d finished that book a couple of visits ago and he hasn’t brought up reading anything else.

Quinn doesn’t want to push him because she thinks she’s done that enough—after all, the only reason he’d even brought the other book was because he’d remembered all those times Quinn had angrily told him to pick a book sometime when they were dating and she was mad.

That had usually been a jab at his intelligence, though—something she feels incredibly guilty for now that she can’t concentrate on anything for too long to even read on her own.

Quinn watches him for a moment, eyes trailing down his hair to the hinge of his jaw and wonders if Rachel has ever kissed him there.

She’s pretty sure Rachel has at some point because Rachel has kissed Quinn there, likes to take her time getting to her mouth.

She wants to ask Finn if she has, if she’s done so in the past month or even since she accepted his proposal, if kissing Rachel is anything like she remembers in her head or if she made it all up.

Finn must have died or something because his furious tapping has stopped and he’s mumbling, “Dammit,” quietly.

“Did you die?” Quinn asks instead of what she wants to say and Finn nods.

“Do you want to try?”

These are the sorts of questions Finn asks and one of the reasons he’s the only person she really lets spend a significant amount of time with her.

Unlike Santana and Brittany, he doesn’t talk about school or cheerleading or _life_ like nothing has changed. He doesn’t pretend that it’s all normal and happy and she’s ready to move on with her life.

Unlike Judy and Frannie, he doesn’t stare at her like she’s broken or lie in wait just in case she needs help with something.

He doesn’t act like she’s broken like Ellie and Zach had—like Leroy had two days ago.

Unlike Sam, he doesn’t look like he’s about three seconds from crying every time he sees her.

And unlike Rachel, he actually shows up.

Quinn tries to imagine playing the game—however you play it, that is—but can’t quite get past the part where her fingers will have to move fast and well in order to succeed.

She shakes her head. “No, that’s okay,” she says and Finn accepts the answer, tucking his phone into his pocket and leaning back against the coffee table.

It’s quiet for a  while, then Finn is saying, “Would you want to read this?” and tugging his backpack over, pulling out a worn copy of _Wicked._

She looks over the cover. It’s a paperback edition and the two outside corners are bent back and worn white.

Something twists in her gut and he doesn’t have to say, “Rachel let me borrow it,” for her to just _know_.

“I’ve read it before,” she says, more to herself than him.

A frown twists the corners of his lips down. “I just thought, you know, it’s like the musical, right?”

She doesn’t say yea or nay because, really—barring character names—it’s _not_.

“And it can’t be sadder than the Bridge book.”

Quinn quirks her eyebrow at him, but she’d much rather have him find out on his own than her tell him outright that it’s pretty much the same deal as Leslie Burke’s untimely, depressing demise—except it’s like that from start to finish.

She doesn’t say, “Fine,” or, “Okay,” or any variation of the two.

Instead, she presses her head into the pillow behind her and makes the, ‘carry on gesture,’ with a jerky twist of her right hand.

There’s the sound of pages flipping, then Finn clearing his throat.

“ _A mile above Oz,_ ” he starts, “ _the Witch balanced on the wind’s forward edge.”_

.

Sam comes home sometime after Quinn falls asleep.

She wakes up to the sound of the door shutting and then a quiet conversation—the rising and falling cadence of his voice mixed with the softer voice of someone else.

Finn, who is still reading to himself, looks up from the book, his eyes wide with some emotion that Quinn, half-asleep and muddled, can’t read.

“I’ll be right back,” he tells her, setting the book aside, opened facing downwards into the coffee table.

He drags himself to his feet as quickly as he can manage and then shuffles around the couch and into the front room, where the other conversation ceases.

She perks her ears up, but can’t pick up anything after her own name and, “Right in there.”

The voice that doesn’t belong to Sam or Finn says something, even more quiet, this time, than the last time.

Then light footsteps going from the front room to the kitchen.

That’s her first clue, but her last.

Sam swings into the room a moment later with Finn behind him and grins, saying, “Hey there, Q-Ball. How are you today?”

He registers the question not one second later, but, by then, it’s too late.

The damage has been done.

Quinn says, “Hey. Fine,” and leaves it at that.

There are footsteps in the kitchen and more voices—Frannie’s and possibly Judy’s mixed in now.

Sam draps himself over the back of the sofa and crosses his arms.

Quinn thinks that, if he wasn’t gripping the sleeves of his sweater so hard, he may have tried to touch her, but he can’t.

She’s not sure which she prefers.

“What are you guys up to?” is his next question and it’s one that Quinn definitely prefers.

In fact, she likes it so much—not being asked how she is—that she takes it upon herself to answer him, much to the surprise of both Finn and Sam.

“We were reading,” she answers. “Well, Finn was reading, I was—“

“Falling asleep,” Finn finishes, smiling at her.

Sam seems to like the sound of that. He pulls himself upright then goes around the couch to sit at opposite end, tugging Quinn’s feet into his lap.

She watches the gesture—watches the gentle press of his hands on her ankles, the slight lift.

Some of it, she feels.

Mostly just the pressure, not the sensation itself.

She can feel the weight of her legs.

“Carry on,” Sam says, waving his hand in the same gesture she’d used to Finn earlier. “Pretend I’m not here.”

He grins cheekily to Quinn as he says it and she might have laughed if it wasn’t for the voices in the kitchen getting louder—that specific, “It’s right here, Judy,” that sounds impeccably like Rachel.

She can feel Sam and Finn’s eyes on her, waiting to gauge her reaction, but she doesn’t give either of them what they’re looking for.

She just lifts her head and jerks her it vaguely in Finn’s direction. “Where were we when I fell asleep?”

Finn stares at her, mouth slightly agape for just a second, then thumbs backwards a few pages, clearing his throat again. “’ _But Dorothy’s right,’ said the Scarecrow,_ ’” he says. “ _’No one is exempt from grief.’”_

.

Quinn eats dinner in her room that night sometime after Finn leaves.

She does not roll herself into the kitchen and confront Rachel head-on, demand her to explain herself and her absence from Quinn’s life.

She sits in her (new) bed and uses her special utensils to spoon mac and cheese into her mouth.

The study is on the opposite end of the house from the front door, so it’s probably wishful thinking when she hears it open and close sometime after Sam comes to retrieve her (mostly) empty plate.

.

“Is there any song you’d want to listen to or sing?” Leroy asks the next time he’s there.

Frannie had escorted him in with a solemn look to her sister and Leroy had said, “Quinn, you look well,” even though she’d just been sitting in her chair in the living room at the time.

Now they’re in her bedroom and he has his speakers and phone out again, already scrolling through his options.

“No,” she says, but he seems content with that.

“That’s fine. I’ll just play this, then, okay?”

A Judy Garland song comes on and Quinn wants to laugh and cry simultaneously, but, fortunately, can’t manage to do so.

He spends a few songs asking about how everything is going—her daily life, though, not therapy or her chair.

He seems to know what to avoid.

After a little while, he tells her goodbye and that he’ll be back in a few days if that’s okay with her, of course.

Standing at the end of her bed, Leroy smiles hopefully and the way his eyes crinkle in their outer corner looks like Rachel—which is ridiculous, of course, because Hiram is, no doubt, her real father.

Still, it makes her say, “Yeah, okay,” when she really wants to just turn him down.

.

By Quinn’s fourth day home—that Thursday after her return—she’s almost certain that Rachel is around more often than not.

Maybe it’s the Vicodin or the general woozy fog that her brain is perpetually in these days, but for some reason, she can’t help but think that, this time at least, it _isn’t_.

There are traces of Rachel everywhere, but she’s ever really there.

There’s the phantom voice in the kitchen when Quinn is in the living room, the footsteps she swears she can hear upstairs even when it’s just her and Frannie home.

Two mornings in a row, Quinn had let Frannie push her chair into the kitchen and found three breakfast plates and a box of Bisquick on the counter, a half-empty jug of soy milk in the fridge.

The pancakes Frannie cut up for her had tasted different than usual, but, when she’d asked, Frannie had just said, “Just, you know…gluten and lactose free,” and that was all Quinn needed to hear.

But it’s more than just that. More than just glimpses and sounds and things left behind.

Because sometimes Quinn swears she can almost _feel_ Rachel nearby.

It makes her feel weighted down, heavy and drowning rather than light and she knows that it’s because of her own anger.

Why putter around the outskirts of Quinn’s life?

Why not just come out of the shadows?

Quinn thinks that she would much rather have Rachel visit and talk about school and life and ask how she is like everyone else than have her shuffling around in the background.

Which is why she’s so angry she almost screams when she wakes up from an accidental nap Thursday evening.

Frannie is out grocery shopping with Judy—they’d been reluctant at first to leave Quinn on her own, with Sam at his swim meet, but something had convinced them to go.

It hadn’t been Quinn, that’s for sure.

She thinks now that it must have been the knowledge that she wouldn’t really _be_ alone.

That someone else would be around.

And Quinn is proved right when she wakes up on the couch with a blanket tucked around her body.

It’s the spare one from her room—the one she _left_ in her room.

Someone would have had to go into her room, grab bedit, and then draped it over her and with both her sister and mother gone, that leaves but one option.

Frustration spikes up her chest and into her arms, her throat. She wants to cry and scream and rage.

She wants to demand that Rachel just fucking _show_ herself already.

Because she’s tired of this game.

She’s tired of Rachel acting like a ghost and she’s angry that this blanket is the only proof she has that Rachel even exists anymore.

The TV is playing the ending of _The Wizard of Oz_ which makes her laugh bitterly even as she’s picturing Rachel tucked into the corner of the house somewhere, hiding.

The Tin Man says, “Now I know I’ve got a heart, because it’s breaking,” and Quinn swears she can hear the sound of footsteps in her bedroom directly on top of the living room.

.

The bathing thing is still akward, at best.

Probably because, while it was perfectly acceptable when she was below the age of, say, seven, Quinn didn’t know enough to think it was weird that Judy did the majority of the scrubbing.

Now that’s she’s eighteen, however…

“Are you sure you feel up to go back next week?” Judy asks as Quinn stares at the ceiling in an attempt to not focus on what’s happening.

The questions are a similar tactic, though they’re the one that Judy finds most helpful.

Perhaps she thinks it would be worse if this were to happen in silence.

Quinn disagrees and wishes that she didn’t have to answer everyone’s damn questions all the time.

She jerks her head up and down in answer.

Judy hums softly and presses her daughter back into the bath lift seat, bringing up the showerhead to rinse out the conditioner from her hair. “I know that it’s only half-days at first, but I’m just worried that you’re returning too quickly.”

What she means is—she’s worried that Quinn is pushing herself.

“I’m already a month behind everyone else. There’s barely three more months of school.”

Gentle fingertips in her hair.

Quinn closes her eyes against the onslaught of descending soapsuds.

“Miss Pillsbury’s been helping you prepare, though, hasn’t she? That’s what she said to me, anyway.”

Ah, yes, Quinn thinks bitterly. Miss Pillsbury’s wonderful help.

Not that she hasn’t been, at least, somewhat helpful.

It’s just that Quinn doesn’t like to acknowledge the fact that she’ll now need a helper of some sort once she does return—someone to go over reading assignments with her (i.e. read them for her) and guide her with homework.

It’s embarrassing, to say the least, because Quinn doesn’t like to accept help from anyone, especially not when it comes to academics.

Miss Pillsbury had first shown up two weeks after the accident with a stack of papers and more than a few “helpful” pamphlets she’d printed up special.

One of them had said, _Stubborn Sally: A Guide to Letting People In_.

That one alone had pretty much tipped Quinn off that Judy had told Emma of her daughter’s resistance to the whole idea when she’d run it by her the night before.

Mostly, that first meeting, Miss Pillsbury had simply gone over how many things would change when she finally returned.

The next one had focused more on her homework assignments she was missing.

“I’m just the stand-in,” she’d told Quinn as she looked over her AP Lit worksheets. “We’re already looking for someone else to fill in once you come back.”

There was still no word on who that might be, but Quinn’s not hopeful.

Still, she says, “I’m going back next Tuesday, Mom.”

The act of opening her mouth to say these words leads to a brief Pantene sud taste-test that makes her gag and Judy draws away, looking worried.

“I just don’t want you overexterting yourself,” Judy mumbles when she’s towel-drying her daughter as best she can without moving her from the seat.

Quinn’s mind is already on the transfer they’ll be doing to her chair once she has some of her clothes on, so she doesn’t answer.

.

Santana and Brittany bring cookies on Friday and Brittany offers to feed one to Quinn.

Quinn would be offended at the idea that she can’t feed herself, but it’s Brittany and it’s actually not the first time the other girl has offered to feed her something.

As they always do, they talk about school, but they’re careful, as always, to hedge around glee club.

Normally, they don’t mention it and Quinn doesn’t ask.

It’s not that she doesn’t want to hear about the members of the club, but that she isn’t sure what they’ll say.

How much things have changed.

She wonders how they know to avoid it.

Sam, perhaps, could have told them—she certainly doubts that her accident has led to Rachel spilling the beans on their whole situation.

Not with Finn in as pleasant a mood towards her as he has been.

He wouldn’t be visiting her regularly if Rachel had done that, no doubt.

Or maybe no one told them. Maybe they just guessed that she wouldn’t want to hear about how much National’s preparation she’s missing—won’t want the reminder that she probably won’t be able to so much as participate, let alone dance.

It’s late afternoon—about an hour before Judy usually brings her dinner, though still early for Santana and Brittany (or people who don’t pass out from the exhaustion of merely existing at the end of each day) to be eating their final meal.

From the living room where they’re sitting—the other two on either side of her—Quinn can hear the sounds of cooking coming from the kitchen just a few walls away.

The slow mumble of voices, the occasional clink of metal or glass.

Sam disappeared back there after escorting Santana and Brittany here, but the look on his face had been enough to tip Quinn off to the fact that he wasn’t alone.

There are three sets of voices and, with Frannie off picking up Thomas at the Columbus airport, there should only be two.

“Why is there never anything good on?” Santana sighs as she flips through the channels.

“Wait, go back,” Brittany cuts in, grabbing the remote from Santana and flipping back a few channels until she finally settles on _30 Rock._

It’s loud and bright and everyone on the show is in such high spirits that it almost makes Quinn feel sick.

Especially because she can still hear the voices from the kitchen.

“Great,” Santana groans after a moment, staring at the screen as she shoves a cookie into her mouth. “Now I want a sandwich.”

Britttany hums hungrily around her own cookie. “Me too,” she agrees.

“What’s your mom making, Q?”

They glance over at Quinn, but she’s focused somewhere else—eyes fixed distantly on the TV screen without taking in the image of Liz Lemon dipping her sandwich into the dipping sauce at the airport.

“Q? You okay?”

It’s that question again, but different now—more worried somehow.

Quinn turns to them, staring at Santana with scared, expectant eyes. “She’s here, isn’t she?”

She doesn’t say Rachel— _can’t_ maybe—but they seem to know what she’s saying anyway.

They exchange a look, as if sizing up the question in order to determine the best answer.

Except Quinn already knows the answer.

“She…” Santana trails off and something clatters in the kitchen.

It takes Judy coming in and asking them if they’ll be staying for dinner for Santana to find her voice again.

She finishes the sentence as Brittany is saying, “Oh, we promised my parents we’d be home tonight,” to Quinn’s mother.

“She’s just scared, Quinn,” Santana whispers. Her fingers flex like she’s going to squeeze Quinn’s wrist or fingers or something. “I know it’s unfair. I know it sucks. But she’s scared.”

Quinn just stares resolutely at the television. Having been raised in a passive aggressive and reserved household, she knows all too well that, in most cases, everything before the ‘but’ is bull.

“See you soon,” is the next thing Santana says and Brittany squeezes her loosely on their way out.

.

Thomas doesn’t hug her when he arrives that evening.

Someone must have warned him not to try.

He does sit down next to Quinn on the sofa though while Frannie grabs him some of the leftovers from dinner.

“What are you watching?” he _does_ ask and Quinn hands him the remote in answer.

He doesn’t settle on anything particularly good before Frannie returns, but Quinn lets him squeeze her hand before she goes to bed anyway.

.

The next time Leroy shows up, he doesn’t ask her any questions.

He just starts playing music and, honestly, Quinn has no idea what this is supposed to be doing for her because, as far as she can tell, it’s not helping.

That is, she isn’t sure what exactly needs helped—whether it’s nothing or so many things that she just can’t line them all up in a row and consider them.

She’s doing fine, really.

He plays a few more songs—she’s absolutely _positive_ that he looked at her iTunes account now—while he taps his foot and stares down at a blank yellow legal pad.

The only thing he has written down is her name in the upper right corner—as if she’s not worth any more words than just that.

 _Here’s to Us_ by Halestorm comes on and he stops tapping his foot long enough to send her a worried glance.

She’s fine.

Why wouldn’t she be?

Her throat feels like it’s clogged somehow—swollen or something.

It’s hard to breathe.

He switches the song quickly, but the one that comes on after is worse.

Her hands are sweaty and she thinks they’re shaking.

She slams her eyes closed and tries to breathe in and out through her mouth, raggedly.

She hears, “ _The fight for you is all I’ve ever known,”_ and, without realizing she’s doing it, begins mumbling, “No, no, no, no,” under her breath.

“Quinn,” Leroy says, fumbling to turn the music off as quickly as he can. “Quinn, hey, Quinn, listen to me.” Finally it’s silent and he tosses his iPod aside kneeling beside her on the bed. “You’re okay.”

“No,” she practically yells.

He tries to touch her arm but she jerks away and then he’s out of the room, calling for someone—Judy, she thinks.

But shouldn’t he know how to deal with this? Shouldn’t he have done it before?

Dealt with someone who’s—

No. She’s fine.

“Quinn? Quinn?”

It sounds like Rachel—looks like Rachel through the blur of tears.

Quinn draws in shaky breath after shaky breath.

“Breathe with me, Quinn. Slow and easy.” Rachel’s fingers are gentle on Quinn’s wrists, squeezing in time with the breaths. “Breathe like me.”

Quinn tries, perks her ears up so she can hear a little better, and then slows down her own breathing to match.

Her chest feels tight.

“You’re okay,” Rachel whispers, still breathing slowly. “You’re okay. Breathe like me.”

Tugging up her right hand, Rachel presses Quinn’s palm to her sternum and Quinn closes her eyes as she feels the rise and fall of Rachel’s chest.

“Feel me breathing, Quinn. Breathe like me.”

She’s shaking, trembling.

Both of them are.

Quinn can hear the crunch of metal as it folds around her, can practically feel the crush of her ribs as the door caves into her left side just barely audible over the sound of music coming from the radio at the time—the song Leroy just turned off.

She can taste copper in her mouth and her chest moves raggedly as it had when she’d been breathing in snow and dust and her own blood.

Rachel is engaged, Rachel is married, Rachel is waiting in the courthouse for Quinn to arrive and watch her share vows with the person she was left in the dust for.

But Rachel isn’t in the courthouse.

Rachel is here. Quinn’s hand is on her chest. Quinn can feel her breathing.

“I thought you left me,” she whimpers quietly.

Her eyes are still closed.

“I’m here, Quinn,” Rachel whispers, her words ghosting through the air as she uses her free hand to wipe some of Quinn’s hair away from her face. “I’m here. Keep breathing. You’re okay. I’m here now.”

Quinn wants to say, “Are you?”

Wants to question it.

But her breath is barely returning to her, fingertips tingling as they flex on the warm skin of Rachel’s chest.

Her eyes don’t open—focused on the black of her eyelids, the blur of the truck to her left, the beeping of her heart monitor echoing in her head.

.

Leroy is deeply apologetic.

He stands in front of her bed with his palms pressed to his slacks and says, “Quinn, I…”

Quinn gets it without hearing it.

She says, “Okay.”

When he leaves, Frannie stands in the doorway, slumped against the frame and crossing her arms over her Ohio University hoodie.

“Don’t ask me if I’m okay,” Quinn says quietly.

Her chest hurts and her head is swimming—she doesn’t want to answer any questions.

“I wasn’t going to,” is what Frannie says. “I love you, you know.”

Quinn does know.

But it doesn’t hurt to hear it again.

She digs her fingernails into the unresponsive muscle of her left thigh. “I know.”

“You know Mom loves you, right?”

Quinn nods.

“And Thomas? He loves you, too. That’s why we’re so annoying. That’s why we ask if you’re okay and insist on cutting up your meals to make it easier for you to eat.”

There’s a particularly heavy _thump_ of pain to Quinn’s temples.

“What’s your point, Fran?” she asks bitterly.

“Rachel loves you, too.”

If she wasn’t completely exhausted, Quinn might have panicked over her sister having reached some sort of groundbreaking conclusion, or perhaps just over her mentioning Rachel at all.

Frannie has been just as careful as everyone else to not bring the girl up.

“I know that…I know that it sucks that she didn’t want to see you. God knows I asked her if she wanted to in the hospital enough.” She shakes her head. “But…she’s been here just about every day helping out Mom. Helping me out. With…With everything, Quinn. Dinner. Setting up your bedroom. Picking up your prescriptions. Groceries. She’s been like a Godsend. And I know…I know that she should have come to see you…face to face. But…”

“And again I say; what’s your point?” Quinn’s words taste sharp on her tongue—she’s surprised when there isn’t blood to show for it.

Frannie sighs. “I’m saying that even though you’re mad at her, you should try to keep in mind that it’s not as if she’s abandoned you or anything. Or at least…not on purpose.”

Quinn lifts her eyes and locks them on her sister for a few seconds.

She counts to ten.

And then she says, “Okay, can you go, now?”

She doesn’t mean it.

If anything, she just wants her big sister to stay and curl up on the bed beside her and tell her that everything is going to be simple and easy from here on out.

Frannie nods. “Yeah, okay.”

And then she’s gone.

.

Ellie comes over the next day with a stack of papers and a pack of Q-Tips.

“Would you want to just take it a little easy today?” she asks, as if any of their other sessions have been anything other than Quinn simply trying to stab a fork into something or hold a (very large) pencil the correct way.

But Quinn is still dizzy with the memory of Rachel from the night before—the paranoia that Rachel could be, probably is, in her house right now and she has no idea where she is or what she’s doing.

The paper Ellie sets on Quinn’s food tray is a coloring page of a pumpkin.

She’s handed a Q-Tip next and then Ellie sets out a few little deli cups with different colored paints in them.

Quinn, baffled, gives her therapist a questioning—slightly panicked look—and Ellie quickly jumps on top of it with an explanation.

“Don’t worry about painting the entire thing,” she says. “Just try to color it in with little dots of paint.”

She doesn’t explain what this will be accomplishing exactly, though she rarely does that.

Still, Quinn dips the Q-Tip into some orange paint before tapping it lightly onto the paper with a bit of a jerky movement.

Ellie seems pleased, even though it takes Quinn more than five minutes to finish only one of the sections on the pumpkin.

Quinn, for her part, is pleased for the distraction—the concentration the action requires.

It keeps her mind from wandering.

That is, until there’s a firm knock on the door.

Rachel is standing there, looking sheepish, when Quinn looks up and Quinn’s stomach bottoms out. Her wrist drops when Rachel meets her eyes briefly, before looking away just as quickly, and subsequently smears a decent sized streak across the paper.

“Judy wanted me to ask if you’d like anything. Water?” Rachel asks and Ellie seems appreciative.

She also, Quinn notes, doesn’t seem confused about who Rachel is.

Quinn wonders if they’ve met before and she wonders why her mother sent Rachel in _now_.

Ellie has been here before, in her room. Granted, that was only once and it was a few days prior, but Quinn has a feeling that it has something to do with her panic attack the day before.

“I’m alright, thanks,” Ellie answers. She pauses, throwing a quick look at Quinn, before adding, “Would you maybe want to join us, Rachel? We’re painting.”

Something akin to bile rises up in Quinn’s throat when Rachel glances at her, as if checking to see if it’s okay.

She doesn’t give the other girl any indication on whether it is or isn’t.

Rachel joins them and is handed another piece of paper.

Hers has a lion on it.

Quinn is quiet for the rest of her session, though it’s more because she can’t swallow around the lump in her throat than because she doesn’t want to speak.

And, even if she could have said anything, it’s not as if she has anything to say.

Because it’s worse than she thought it would be, seeing Rachel.

It’s everything and nothing at once—a vacuum that sucks all the air out of the room and she’s left shivering in the emptiness.

“He’s cute,” Ellie says to Rachel when the lion is painted in.

“Thank you,” Rachel mumbles.

She doesn’t look at Quinn.

That, Quinn thinks, is probably the worst part.

.

Rachel ducks out of the room about twenty minutes before Ellie does.

The last twenty minutes of the session are spent with Ellie ensuring Quinn that, while she’s ready for her return to school, she should try not to push herself.

Quinn’s heard the speech before, so she zones out until Ellie says goodbye and then waves accordingly.

A few minutes after that, she somehow manages to transfer herself into her chair without any help.

Restless with frustration—needing to ‘stretch her legs’ if you will—she rolls out into the hallway between the kitchen and the living room.

The house is quiet—it’s early afternoon still—but she thinks she can hear movement by the front door.

She’s proved right when she rolls in to see Rachel slipping on her shoes and coat and listening as Sam says something to her under his breath.

She looks as if she’s been crying.

Sam stops speaking when they notice Quinn, resting her wheelchair a few paces away with her hands draped on the wheels.

Rachel’s mouth is open a bit.

“I, um,” Sam says, loudly enough for Quinn to hear this time.

Whatever his thought was, though, he doesn’t finish.

He just ducks up the stairs and then it’s just Rachel and Quinn in the front room where they first kissed all those months ago.

Quinn is in sweatpants and a _Fourth Annual Lima River Run_ t-shirt and she feels ridiculous because she can’t walk or even function, apparently, like a human being.

Her brain is foggy—not just now, but always these days—and Rachel is just standing there with her coat on, her bangs so long that they’re brushing against her eyelashes as she blinks.

Quinn takes a second to let her eyes close at the thought of Rachel’s skin, the urge to say that maybe she should get a haircut soon, but then she’s saying, “Did you think I’d be happy to see you?”

Rachel is quiet for a moment. “Quinn, I—”

She’s still stumbling over her words, looking for a response, when Quinn opens her eyes back up.

“What? Did you expect me to be fine with everything? To not be angry? After _weeks_ of you just not…just not being there.”

She lifts up one hand to press her forefinger and middle finger to her hairline, taking a deeper breath than necessary. There’s a burning behind her eyes and she tries desperately to fend it off without much luck.

She’s not positive where these words are coming from, but she’s almost glad for them and the sting they fill her bloodstream with—glad for the look of shock on Rachel’s face, the evidence of pain.

“I…” The tightness in Rachel’s throat is evident now in her voice. “What do you want me to say? What do you want to hear?”

And Quinn thinks that it’s completely fucking twisted that all she wants to do is pull Rachel into her lap, her arms, and kiss her, kiss her, _kiss her_.

“It’s been a month, Rachel. A month and I haven’t seen you once. Not one word.”

Rachel’s bottom lip is quivering.

“Did you think I could just forget that? Did you think I’d just forgive you? That you magically reappearing and…and talking me down would make it all disappear?”

“No.”

Quinn’s head is still heavy, foggy, dense, but she somehow manages to sustain this endless anger leaping up from under her skin and lapping at the edges of her voice like flames.

“Because, look, I’m still…I tried to stop...Okay? When you said that you and…And then after, when I said I wanted to support you…I tried, but I couldn’t, okay? I couldn’t and you’re…You’re still with him and I…I can’t do this anymore, Rachel.”

Rachel’s face gets this weird look on it, like she’s confused about the phrasing or something, but Quinn is momentarily sapped of the energy her anger provided, the words she needed to say.

“I know,” Rachel says finally, voice shaking. “I didn’t…I didn’t think you’d want to see me or…or talk to me.”

Quinn’s eyes draw closed again as she sucks in a breath loud enough for Rachel to hear across the room.

Her back is aching, trembling from the effort of sitting up after such a taxing day yesterday, but she’s used to the pain by now.

“You’re…I don’t know that I even could’ve handled seeing you, Rachel…I don’t know what I would have done. But you didn’t even _try_.”

“Okay,” is the only answer Rachel provides and it’s not much help.

Quinn didn’t think it would go like this—their next confrontation.

Even when she’d been halfway to the municipal center a month ago, she’d pictured flowery confessions of undying love, a kiss—maybe in the rain or something equally dramatic.

In the hospital, she’d imagined Rachel sitting by her bedside at all hours of the day and night, reading to her, singing to her, watching bad TV with her.

And then, on the way home, she’d imagined Rachel waiting with a banner or cookies or both and she’d imagined Rachel leaning down to kiss her and say, “Welcome back.”

They made love once—more than once—or whatever you want to call it.

She’d held Rachel in her arms and felt the tremble of want in her bones when she’d realized that it was all she’d ever really wanted.

She’d kissed Rachel with everything in her not that long ago and now she’s here, in a wheelchair, averting her eyes from that same girl.

Not that Rachel is faring much better.

Quinn’s chest aches where the scar from her surgery is and she remembers the softness of Rachel’s chest under her hands just last night.

“I kept trying, Rachel. Unlike you. I didn’t give up on you even when…even when I probably should have. I didn’t run away. I was trying then and I’ve been trying for the last month. But…I can’t do this to myself anymore.”

And before Rachel can even pretend to have a response, she turns her wheelchair as slickly as she can manage and rolls to her bedroom, slamming the door shut behind her.

She thinks she can hear the sound of the front door opening and closing a few moments later.

During the difficult transfer to her bed that she, once again, manages without aid, she ends up knocking a card from her mother and sister that says, “Welcome home!” off her nightstand and onto the floor.

.

That evening is quiet.

Thomas bakes a cake with Frannie that has an owl with a diploma on it.

“They didn’t have any other education related edible stickers,” is his excuse.

Sam eats it and, not ten minutes after the cake is divied up, has almost all of his blue icing on his cheeks and lips.

Quinn smiles despite herself and—for the first time all day—her mind isn’t on the way Rachel’s hands felt on her wrists the night before.

“Were you raised in a barn?” she asks and he seems thrown off enough by her lighthearted comment that he doesn’t even try to resist the napkin she lifts to his face.

He just makes a pig noise while she scrubs the blue from his cheeks.

“Why am I always cleaning you up?” she asks, remembering the red slushie she’d once wiped off of him last year.

“Because I’m dirty, baby,” he jokes, seeming to feed of her lighthearted tone.

Judy is watching the exchange from the other side of the table and, when Quinn looks up at her, the older woman is smiling.

It’s not a lot, Quinn thinks, but it’s something.

When Sam grabs her hand under the table, lacing their fingers together as he compliments Thomas on his baking skills, she doesn’t let go and neither does he.

.

Finn comes over after school the next afternoon—the day before Quinn is set to return to school, at least for half a day.

He brings _Wicked_ and they sit in the living room, but he doesn’t open it and Quinn doesn’t turn off the episode of _Scooby Doo_ that’s playing on the TV.

“This book is sad,” Finn says finally—the first thing he’s said since Sam let him in twelve minutes prior.

He waves the paperback for emphasis and Quinn arches an eyebrow at him.

It hurts to see him after her conversation with Rachel, but not much more than it has to see him the past few weeks.

She wonders if Rachel told him what happened yesterday.

Based on his silence, she thinks that she may have, but she’s not going to ask him about it.

“Sadder than the other one?” she asks.

Finn squints, thinking over the question. “That depends,” he says.

“On what?”

“Does this one at least have a happy ending?”

Her silence says it all.

“Dammit,” Finn mutters. “I knew it. She still melts, doesn’t she?”

Quinn just shrugs.

Finn gets quiet again after that, watching as Velma unmasks the villain of the episode and chuckling at the signature final catchphrase the villain tosses in before being carted off.

Quinn likes Finn like this—always has, maybe.

She likes watching Finn be happy, watching his eyes widen a bit and then that throat-y laugh like a smile without smiling.

She likes that Finn can sometimes laugh like that, not because something is even really funny, but because he’s content in that moment.

Quinn wants to tell him that she doesn’t know if she’ll ever be happy like that ever—that maybe she was a few months ago, but she doesn’t even really know now.

Because there was Rachel at one point and Rachel has always made it so easy for Quinn to just see the years with her just lining up perfectly, but everything is screwed up now.

Maybe it always was.

She doesn’t tell Finn any of this, though, because their friendship—if you’ll be so kind as to call it that—is still fragile and based on so many things being kept in the dark.

Still, she can’t help it when she turns her face into the back cushion of the couch and feels the tremble of her shoulders as stinging hot tears begin their descent from her eyes.

Finn doesn’t notice at first—focused still on the TV—but, when he does, there’s a heavy hand on her shoulder and a quiet, “Whoa, Quinn. Are you okay? What’s wrong?”

Quinn pulls her face away from the cushion and shakes her head, wiping the tears under her left eye away with the sleeve of her crewneck. “Nothing,” she tells him, shaking her head.

It’s an obvious lie and she can tell by the change in Finn’s expression that he doesn’t buy it.

She shrugs at Finn and smiles weakly. “I’m fine,” she manages before her face collapses again and she’s crying harder in a way that’s so different than the quiet way she was before.

Finn’s arms are around her at once, pulling her face into the crook of his neck. “Tell me what’s going on with you. I wanna help,” he tells her.

Based on his tone, Quinn thinks that he may be channeling the voice Carole at that moment.

Quinn shakes her head against his shoulder, wet eyelashes brushing against the skin of his neck.

She pulls her head up, jarred by this, and says, “I can’t,” quickly followed by, “You can’t,” and then her eyebrows are low again, but she’s not crying this time.

It takes a little while for Finn to let her go and, when he does, he doesn’t really because he keeps his arm around her.

She twists on the couch, moving her legs with her hands so that she’s sitting normally on one of the cushions instead of lying down.

She doesn’t look at Finn more than once because, the one time she does, he has a deep-set frown that makes her worried that he’s onto her.

He must have felt her gaze that one time too, because he’d made eye contact when she had the first time and given her a brief smile that looked like it was a little painful.

Quinn almost wants to tell him that she’s sorry but he wouldn’t know what she’s sorry for and she’s afraid of scaring him off.

When Finn says, “Does it have to do with Rachel?” Quinn’s certain she’s having a heart attack.

Her throat closes up and she almost can’t breathe, but she manages to anyway.

But it’s now or never and she thinks that one of these things must be true—that Finn suspects already or that he deserves to know.

So she pulls away a little, so that he can reclaim his arm once her words settle, and then she says, “I’m in love with her,” without looking up.

Finn doesn’t pull his arm away, but he is quiet for a long time and Quinn keeps track of the seconds by counting the many panicked thumps of her heart.

She clears her throat the same moment that she thinks he may not answer ever. “You can kick something—a chair, the couch, me—if you want.”

But Finn’s arm remains heavy around her. “No, it’s, um…” It’s his turn to clear his throat and then he says, “I just…I already knew that.”

Quinn tugs away from him because it doesn’t seem that he’s going to.

She lets her expression ask her, “You _what_?” for her and Finn looks a little sheepish when he says, “Yeah, uh…That’s why I—” but she doesn’t know why.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks when it’s clear she doesn’t have any words for this.

She shakes her head because she’d expected him to rant and rage, kick over a chair and say that she’s dead to him again like he did two years ago. She’d expected an angry phone call from Rachel a few hours after his angry exit, demanding to know why she told him what was going on.

She didn’t expect the look in his eyes that she finds now.

And then something hits her.

“That’s why you _what_?” she asks, the edges of the question harsh.

He swallows and she follows the bob of his Adam’s apple as he does. “Quinn, the wedding, it was—”

He doesn’t have to finish.

She feels the weight of exhaustion and resignation pressing in on her.

The memory of Rachel’s bloodshot eyes the day before is like warmth pressing in on her chest. It makes her heart sting with loss—makes her wish that she hadn’t left Rachel standing there like that, hadn’t let her leave.

“That’s why you told me it would be worth it to be there,” she says quietly.

It’s the first time she’s really brought up anything from before the accident since Dr. Akers rattled off the long list of her injuries, the long list of hurdles to jump over before a full recovery would even be plausible.

“I just…Rachel told me. When I proposed? She told me what was going on with you two and then she said yes anyway and I couldn’t let her go through with it and I wanted to make you—”

His voice sounds panicked, so Quinn is more than happy to cut him off.

“Make me _what_?”

Her eyes are closed tightly and she’s pressed into the armrest—as far as she can get from him without dropping herself to the floor and crawling away.

“I don’t know, Quinn,” he admits. “ _React_ , I guess. Realize that you belong together or something.”

The whole thing—the whole engagement—the source of her anguish for so many weeks was all a ruse.

A ruse to get a reaction out of her.

Finn was playing puppeteer the whole time.

She wonders if Rachel was in on it too.

She doesn’t say anything for a while—trying to even out her breathing so that she doesn’t have another fit like she had two days ago, so she doesn’t panic and forget how to breathe entirely.

She counts to herself.

One, two, three, four, five, six, sev—

“Did you get the reaction you wanted?” she hears herself saying before she can clamp her lips closed. “Was it everything you hoped it would be? Did you imagine me showing up at that courthouse to watch the girl I _love_ marry _you_? Did you imagine me bursting into the room, crying and yelling about how much I love her, how she should only be with me? Is that what you wanted, Finn?”

“Yes,” Finn answers flatly, but he looks torn. “I mean…Quinn, I—”

Quinn shakes her head and turns away from him.

If she could walk, she’d have left five minutes ago.

“I thought I lost her, Finn. Do you understand that?”

He’s quiet, so she hopes he does.

“I thought that she was going to _marry you_ and I would never get to be with her again. I nearly _died_ on my way to watch her marry you. In more ways than one.”

Finn whispers, “I know.”

“No, I don’t think you do.”

Now she’s looking at him and he at least looks ashamed.

“I think you should go,” she says finally.

Finn must agree because he’s out the door a moment later.

.

The card she knocked over two nights ago is still on the floor when Quinn makes it to her room a little while after the front door closes behind Finn.

She stares at it for a moment, fingers pressed into the tires of her wheelchair as she contemplates her next move.

There’s no way around it; she can feel it bend under the weight of her wheels as she rolls over it.

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> references to:
> 
> Wicked: The Life and Times of the Wicked Witch of the West, The Wizard of Oz, Bridge to Terabithia, 30 Rock, Scooby, “Rhiannon” by Fleetwood Mac, and “Come Home” by One Republic. 
> 
> i very well might have missed some, as well. apologies if i did.

**Author's Note:**

> on a side note, sorry for any errors. my version of Microsoft is a little bitch and won't show me spelling mistakes. so. yeah.


End file.
